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THE  NOVELS  OF 

BJORNSTJERNE   BJORNSON 

EdiUd  by  EDMUND  GOSSB 
VOLUME  II. 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

BJORNSTJERNE    BJORNSON 
Edited  by  EDMUND  GOSSE 

Synndvd  Solbakken. 

Arne. 

A  Happy  Boy. 

The  Fisher  Lass 

The  Bridal  March,  6-  A  Day. 

Magnhild,  &■  Dust. 

Captain  Mansana,  &  Mother's  Hands. 

Absalom's  Hair,  &•  A  Painful  Memory. 

In  God's  Way.     (2  vols.) 

The  Heritage  of  the  Hurts.     (2  vols.) 

NEW  YORK 
THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


A  R  N  E 


BT 

BJORNSTJERNE   BJORNSON 

Tt  anslatedfrom  the  Norwegian 
By  WALTER  LOW 


NEW  YORK 
THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


Uniform  Edition 

First  published  April  1895 

New  Edition  January  1909 

New  Impressions  November  1912,  July  1918 


PRINTED  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN 

AT    THE    COMPLETE    PRESS 

WBST  NORWOOD 


TT 

A7-f  ESJ:- 

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

[Arne  was  written  for  the  most  part  at  Ejkisdal,  in 
Romsdalj  during  the  summer  of  1838,  and  was  finished  later 
on  in  the  year  at  Hop,  near  Bergen.  It  was  first  published 
at  Bergen  in  the  beginning  of  1859,  but  with  1858  on  the 
title-page.  The  story  was  not  successful  at  first,  and  in  the 
ensuing  summer  the  author  parted  with  fifteen  years'  copy- 
right of  it  for  a  very  small  sum.  No  second  edition  was 
called  for  until  1868,  when  it  appeared  in  Copenhagen,  with 
the  spelling  modified.  In  1872  it  was  included  in  the 
Fortaellinger,  where  it  has  since  appeared. 

A  Swedish  translation  of  Arne  was  published  at  Upsala 

in  1860,  and  a  German  one  in  the  same  year  at  Bergen.     In 

1861  Thomas  Krag  printed  in  Bergen  an  English  version 

which  he  described  as  "  translated  from  the  second  edition  " 

of  Arne,  apparently  taking  the  German  text,  which  the 

author  had  "  largely  improved,"  as  being  the  second  edition. 

The  translation  by  Augusta  Plesner  and  S.  Rugeley-Powers, 

which  first  made  the  name  of  Bjornson  known  in  this  country, 

was  published  in  1866  simultaneously  in  London  and  New 

York.    Since  that  time  several  English  versions  have  been 

essayed,  and    Arne    has   been  published    in  most  of  the 

European  languages, 

E.C] 


745545 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGB 

(.  PROLOGUE I 

II.  KAMPBN.           ......  8 

III.  THE   WEDDING 23 

IV.  DAYBREAK 39 

V.  UPLAND   KNUT 5I 

VI.  arne's  story 60 

VII,  SELF-REPROACH 72 

VIII.  ELI 80 

IX.  A  NUTTING   PARTY  .....  93 

X.  AT  BOEN 115 

XI.  BETWEEN   LIFE  AND   DEATH    .          .          .  I35 

XII*  ARNE'S  SONG 150 

XIII.  margit's  confession    .        .       .       .161 

XIV.  BY  THE  BLACK   WATER  ....  177 
ZV.  ARNB'S  TREASURE 189 

Xn.  "AFTER   MANY  DAYS "     .          •          «           .  213 


ARNE 

CHAPTER  I 

PROLOGUE  * 

There  was  a  deep  ravine  between  two  of  the 
mountains  :  through  it  a  full-flowing  stream 
rushed  heavily  down  over  boulder  and  crag. 
High  was  the  bank  on  each  hand,  and  rocky,  so 
that  one  side  stood  barren  and  naked ;  but  clobc 
to  the  stream  and  so  near  it,  that  in  spring  and 
autumn  it  shook  its  spray  upon  them,  were 
green  patches  of  forest-growth,  looking  up  and 
around,  and  finding  room  to  throw  out  their 
arms  neither  here  nor  there. 

"What    if   we    were   to    clothe   the   ravine- 
side  ?  "  said  the  Juniper  one  day  to  the  stranger 

•  Translator's  Note. — The  headings  of  the  chapters  are  not 
in  the  original 

I  A 


ARNE 

Oak,  that  stood  nearer  to  her  than  all  the 
others.  The  Oak  looked  down  to  see  who  it 
was  that  spoke  ;  then  looked  up  again — and 
held  his  peace.  The  stream  worked  so  mightily 
that  its  waters  were  foamy  white ;  the  North 
wind  dashed  into  the  ravine,  and  roared  amid 
the  rocky  rifts  ;  the  bare  mountain  hung  sadly 
over  it,  shivering  in  the  cold. 

"What  if  we  were  to  clothe  the  ravine 
side  ?  "  said  the  Juniper  to  the  Fir,  on  the  other 
side  of  her.  "  If  any  one's  to  do  it,  it  may  well 
be  we,"  said  the  Fir  ;  he  grasped  his  shaggy 
beard,  and  looked  across  at  the  Birch. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  he  said. 

The  Birch  looked  warily  up  at  the  rocky 
wall :  so  heavy  it  lay  above  her,  that  she  scarce 
felt  able  to  draw  breath. 

"  In  God's  name  let  us  clothe  it,"  said  the 
Birch  ;  and  there  was  none  other  to  help  than 
these  three,  so  they  took  it  upon  themselves  to 
clothe  the  ravine-side. 

The  Juniper  led  the  way. 

When  they  had  gone  a  little  bit  of  the  dis- 
tance, they  met  the  Heather.  The  Juniper  was 
about  to  go  by.     "No,    let's  take   the   Heather 


PROLOGUE 

too,"  said  the  Fir.     So  the  Heather  went  with 
them. 

Before  long  the  Juniper  began  to  slip. 
"  Catch  hold  of  me,"  said  the  Heather.  Juniper 
did  so,  and  where  there  was  only  a  tiny  crevice 
the  Heather  put  in  one  finger,  and  where  the 
Heather  once  put  a  finger  in,  there  the  Juniper 
worked  in  her  whole  hand.  On  they  clambered 
upward,  the  Fir  slowly  following  them,  and  the 
Birch  labouring  after.  "But  it's  God's  own 
work,"  said  the  Birch. 

Now  the  Mountain  began  to  ponder  what  sort 
of  live  creatures  it  could  be  that  were  clawing 
and  creeping  up  her.  When  she  had  thought 
over  it  for  a  couple  of  hundred  years  or 
so,  she  sent  down  a  little  streamlet  to  have  a 
look.  It  was  in  the  spring-flood  days,  and 
the  brook  slipped  on  and  on  till  it  came  to  the 
Heather. 

"Heather,  dear  Heather,  can't  you  let  me 
by?— I  am  so  little!''  said  the  Streamlet. 

The  Heather  was  very  busy ;  she  just  raised 
her  head  and  went  on  with  her  work  again. 
Under  her  darted  the  Streamlet,  and  out  and  on 
again. 

S 


ARNE 

"  Juniper,  dear  Juniper,  can't  you  let  me  by  ? 
— I  am  so  little  ! " 

The  Juniper  gave  her  a  scrutinising  glance 
but  as  the  Heather  had  let  her  by,  she  thought 
she  couldn't  be  doing  much  harm  if  she  did 
the  same.  On  darted  the  Streamlet,  on  and 
down  again,  till  she  came  to  where  the  Fir 
stood,  gasping  for  breath,  on  the  steep  hill-side. 

"  Fir-tree,  dear  Fir-tree,  can't  you  let  me  by  ? 
— I'm  so  little  !  "  said  the  Streamlet ;  and  she 
kissed  his  foot,  and  behaved  so  humbly,  yet 
daintily,  that  he  felt  quite  abashed,  and  made 
way. 

But  the  Birch  drew  aside  of  her  own  accord, 
before  ever  the  Streamlet  asked. 

"  Hi,  hi,  hi ! "  laughed  the  Streamlet,  growing 
bigger  and  bigger. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  I "  laughed  the  Streamlet,  still 
growing.  "  Ho,  ho,  ho ! "  as  she  grew  greater 
still,  and  hurled  Heather  and  Juniper,  and  Fir 
and  Birch  flat  on  their  faces  and  their  backs,  up 
and  down  the  craggy  boulders.  The  Mountain 
sat  pondering  for  some  hundred  years  whether 
she  had  not  smiled  that  day. 

It  was  clear  enough ;  the  Mountain  did  not 

4 


PROLOGUE 

wish  to  be  clothed.  The  Heather  was  so  much 
put  out  that  she  turned  quite  green  again  before 
going  on.  "  Pluck  up  your  heart ! "  said  the 
Heather.  Juniper  had  got  half  up  to  look  at 
the  Heather,  and  went  on  getting  up  for  so  long 
that  at  last  she  was  quite  upright.  She  ran  her 
hand  through  her  hair,  set  out  again  on  her  way, 
and  bit  so  fast  hold  of  the  crags  that  she  thought 
the  Mountain  could  not  help  being  aware  of  it. 
"  If  you  won't  hold  me,  I'll  hold  you,  at  any 
rate  I "  was  what  she  meant.  The  Fir  bent  his 
toes  a  bit,  to  see  if  they  were  still  sound  ;  raised 
himself  on  one  foot,  and  found  it  all  right ; 
raised  himself  on  the  other,  which  was  unhurt, 
too  ;  and  then  stood  up  on  both.  He  looked 
round  him  to  see — firstly,  where  he  had  been ; 
secondly,  where  he  had  fallen ;  and  thirdly, 
whither  he  was  to  go.  Then  he  began  to  jog 
along  again,  and  behaved  as  if  he  had  never 
tumbled  down  in  his  life.  The  Birch  had  made 
herself  very  dirty  in  her  fall,  but  she  got  up  and 
brushed  off  the  earth.  And  now  on  they  went 
again,  growing  more  and  more,  right  up  over  the 
side,  in  sunshine  and  in  rain. 

"  What's    all    this    about    now  ? "    said    the 
5 


ARNK 

Mountain,  when  the  summer  sun  rose  above 
them,  the  dew-drops  gHttcred  on  them,  the  birds 
sang,  the  wood-mouse  piped,  the  hare  frisked 
hither  and  thither,  and  the  ermine  hid  himself 
with  a  shrill  cry. 

Then  came  the  day  when  the  Heather  got  onf 
eye  over  the  edge  of  the  mountain-wall.  "Oh\ 
how  lovely,  how  lovely,  how  lovely ! "  she  cried, 
and  on  she  dashed. 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Juniper,  "  what  can  it  be 
that  Heather  sees  ?  "  and  she  pushed  on  till  she 
too  could  peep  over.  "Oh!  how  beautiful!" 
burst  from  her,  and  she,  too,  sped  on.  "  What's 
up  with  Juniper  to-day,  I  wonder  ? "  said  the 
Fir,  making  long,  quick  strides  beneath  the 
summer  sun.  Presently  he  stretched  up  on  his 
toes  and  peeped  over.  "  Oh,  how  glorious ! " 
he  cried,  all  his  leaves  and  prickles  standing  on 
end  with  amazement ;  he  struggled  up  over  the 
ledge,  got  a  firm  footing,  and  was  off  after  the 
other  two. 

"What  can  it  be  they  all   see   there  that   I 
can't?"  quoth  the  Birch,  lifting  her  skirts  well 
up,  and  tripping  after  them.     She  got  her  whole 
head  above  the  ledge  all  at  once. 
6 


PROLOGUE 

"  Oh,  look,  look  ! — if  there's  not  a  great  wood 
of  Firs  and  Heather  and  Juniper  and  Birches 
upon  the  common  there  waiting  for  us !  "  cried 
the  Birch,  shaking  her  leaves  in  the  sunlight  till 
the  dew-drops  trickled  sparkling  off. 

"Yes,"  said  Juniper,  "that's  what  comes  of 
going  on  1 " 


CHAPTER  II 


KAMPEN 


Arne  was  born  up  at  Kampen.  His  mother  was 
Margit,  the  only  child  at  the  h'ttle  farm  among 
the  crags.  When  she  was  eighteen,  she  stopped 
too  long  at  a  dance  one  evening  ;  her  friends 
had  gone  off  without  her,  so  Margit  thought  the 
way  home  would  be  just  as  long  for  her,  whether 
she  waited  till  the  end  of  the  dance  or  not. 
Thus  it  came  about  that  Margit  remained  sitting 
there  till  Nils  Skraedder,*  the  fiddler,  suddenly 
laid  aside  his  instrument,  as  was  his  wont  when 
he  had  had  more  than  enough  to  drink,  left  the 
dancers  to  hum  their  own  tune,  took  hold  of  the 
prettiest  girl  he  could  find,  and  letting  his  feet 
keep  as  good  time  to  the  dance  as  music  to  a 
song,  jerked  off  with   the  heel  of  his  boot  the 

*  *.«.,  tailor. 
8 


KAMPEN 

hat  of  the  tallest  man  in  the  room.     "Ho!" 
laughed  he. 

As  Margit  walked  home  that  night,  the  moon 
was  making  wondrous  sport  over  the  snow. 
When  she  got  to  the  loft  where  she  slept,  she 
could  not  help  looking  out  at  it  again.  Taking 
off  her  bodice,  she  stood  with  it  in  her  hand ; 
then  she  felt  that  she  was  getting  cold,  so  she 
quickly  took  ofF  her  things  and  dived  far  down 
beneath  the  coverlet.  That  night  Margit  dreamed 
of  a  great  red  cow  that  had  got  into  their  field. 
She  strove  to  drive  it  out,  but,  try  as  she  might, 
she  could  not  stir  from  the  spot.  The  cow  stood 
there  quietly  eating,  getting  fatter  and  fuller,  and 
every  now  and  again  looking  up  at  her  with  great 
heavy  eyes. 

Next  time  there  was  a  dance  in  the  parish 
Margit  was  there.  She  did  not  care  much  to 
dance  that  evening;  she  sat  listening  to  the 
music,  and  it  seemed  strange  to  her  that  others 
did  not  want  to  do  so  too.  But  when  it  grew 
late,  the  fiddler  rose  and  wanted  to  have  a  dance. 
He  went  straight  across  to  Margit  Kampen.  She 
was  scarcely  aware  of  anything,  but  she  was 
dancing  with  Nils  Skraedder ! 
9 


ARN£ 

Before  long  the  weather  grew  warmer,  and 
there  was  no  more  dancing.  That  spring,  Margit 
was  so  taken  up  with  a  little  lamb  of  theirs  which 
had  fallen  ill,  that  her  mother  thought  she  was 
going  almost  too  far. 

"  It's  only  a  lamb,  after  all,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  repHed  Margit,  "  but  it's  in  pain." 

It  was  long  since  she  had  been  to  church  j 
she  had  rather  her  mother  went,  she  said,  and 
one  of  them  must  stop  at  home.  One  Sunday, 
however,  when  the  summer  was  getting  on,  the 
weather  was  so  fine  that  the  mother  thought  the 
hay  might  well  be  left  out  for  another  day  and 
night,  and  so  they  could  both  go.  Margit  had 
nothing  much  to  say  against  it,  so  she  put  on  her 
things;  but  when  they  got  within  hearing  of 
the  church  bells  she  burst  into  tears.  The 
mother  turned  pale  as  death.  They  went  on,  the 
mother  in  advance,  Margit  following;  they  lis- 
tened to  the  sermon,  joined  in  the  hymns,  heard 
the  prayers  out,  and  waited  for  the  bells  to  peal 
out  the  end  of  worship  before  they  got  up  to  go. 
But  when  they  were  in  the  room  at  home  again, 
her  mother  threw  both  her  arms  round  her. 
"  Hide  nothing  from  me,  my  child  ! "  she  cried. 


KAMPEN 

Winter  came  again,  but  Margit  danced  no 
more.  Nils  Skraedder  went  on  playing,  drank 
more  than  formerly,  and  wound  up  each  party 
by  dancing  with  the  prettiest  girl  there.  It  was 
now  said  for  certain  that  he  could  get  whichever 
he  wished  of  the  daughters  of  the  richest  farmers 
in  the  place ;  some  added  that  Eli  B5en  herseli 
had  offered  him  the  hand  of  her  daughter  Birgit, 
who  was  sick  for  love  of  him. 

But  just  about  this  time  it  was^  that  a  child  ot 
the  cotter's  daughter  at  Kampen  was  brought  to 
be  christened.  It  was  given  the  name  of  Arne, 
and  its  father  was  said  to  be  Nils  Skraedder. 

On  the  evening  of  that  very  day  Nils  was  at 
a  great  wedding  feast :  there  he  drank  all  he 
could.  He  would  not  play,  but  was  dancing  the 
whole  time,  and  could  scarcely  endure  any  one 
else  being  on  the  floor.  But  when  he  came  to 
Birgit  Boen  and  asked  for  a  dance,  she  refused. 
He  gave  a  short  laugh,  turned  on  his  heel,  and 
took  hold  of  the  first  best  girl  at  hand.  She, 
too,  held  back.  He  looked  down  at  her — a 
little  dark  creature,  who  had  sat  looking  intently 
at  him;  she  was  now  quite  pale.  He  bent 
lightly  over  her  and  whispered  : 
ii 


ARNE 

**  Won't  you  dance  with  tne,  Karen  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer;  he  repeated  his  question. 
Then  she  replied,  whispering  as  he  had  done : 

"The  dance  might  go  further  than  I  should 
like." 

He  drew  slowly  back  till  he  got  to  the  middle 
of  the  floor,  then  he  gave  a  sudden  spring,  and 
danced  the  "  Hailing "  alone.  No  one  else 
danced  :  all  stood  silently  looking  on. 

Then  he  went  out  into  the  barn,  threw  himself 
down,  and  wept. 

Margit  sat  at  home  with  the  little  boy.  She 
heard  about  Nils,  and  how  he  went  from  dance 
to  dance ;  she  looked  at  the  child  and  wept, 
looked  at  him  again  and  was  glad  at  heart. 
The  first  thing  she  taught  the  boy  to  say  was 
*' Daddy,"  but  she  dared  not  do  so  when  the 
mother — or  rather  grandmother,  as  she  was 
henceforth  called — was  anywhere  near.  The 
consequence  of  this  was  that  it  was  the  grand- 
mother whom  the  boy  called  "  Daddy."  It  cost 
Margit  much  trouble  to  teach  him  not  to  do  so, 
and  this  helped  to  make  him  sharp  and  quick  at 
a  very  early  age.  He  was  not  very  big  before 
he  learnt  that  Nils  Skraedder  was  his  father,  and 

IS 


KAMPEN 

as  he  was  then  at  an  age  when  all  that  is  out  of 
the  common  is  attractive,  he  soon  got  to  know 
what  sort  of  man  Nils  Skraedder  was.  The 
grandmother  had  strictly  forbidden  Nils  ever 
being  mentioned ;  her  great  aim  in  life  was  to 
get  her  little  Kampen  made  into  a  regular  farm, 
so  that  her  daughter  and  her  daughter's  son 
might  be  secure.  She  took  advantage  of  the 
neighbouring  farmer's  poverty  to  buy  ground, 
and  every  year  she  paid  off  a  portion  of  the 
money,  working  like  a  man,  for  she  had  been  a 
widow  now  for  fourteen  years.  Kampen  grew 
steadily  bigger,  and  now  supported  four  cows 
and  sixteen  sheep,  besides  having  a  half  share 
in  a  horse. 

Nils  Skraedder,  meanwhile,  was  still  going 
about  the  parish.  His  business  was  not  so  pro- 
fitable now  as  it  used  to  be,  partly  because  he 
took  less  trouble  about  it,  and  partly  because  he 
was  not  so  well  liked  as  of  old.  He  devoted 
himself  all  the  more  to  playing  the  fiddle,  and 
this  was  often  the  occasion  of  his  giving  himself 
up  to  drink,  which  led  him  into  quarrels  and 
stormy  days.  There  were  some  who  heard  him 
complain  of  his  lot. 

13 


ARNE 

Arne  might  have  been  about  six  years  old 
when  he  was  one  winter's  day  playing  at  sailors 
on  his  bed  :  he  had  put  up  the  white  counter- 
pane for  a  sail,  and  sat  steering  with  a  ladle. 
His  grandmother  was  sitting  spinning,  busy  with 
her  own  thoughts.  Every  now  and  then  she 
would  nod  her  head,  as  if  to  hold  fast  the  thing 
she  was  thinking  of.  Then  the  boy  knew  that 
she  was  taking  no  notice  of  him,  so  he  began  to 
sing,  just  as  he  had  heard  it,  a  song  about  Nils 
Skraedder,  coarse  and  low  as  it  was : 

"  If  you've  chanced  but  a  day's  length  among  us  to  dwell. 
You  have  surely  of  Nils,  our  brave  tailor,  heard  tell. 

"  If  it's  more  than  a  day  you've  been  here  in  our  town, 
Then  of  course  you  know  how  he  knocked  Bully-Knut 
down ; 

"  And  that  off  his  own  barn-roof  he  pitched  Ola  Per, 
With  a  •  Next  time,  take  food  when  you  fly  thro'  the  air.' 

"  When  Hans  Bugge  was  getting  so  mighty  a  fame, 
That  the  land  and  the  water  resounded  his  name, 

"  In  his  pride  he  bragged  '  Tailor !  now  say,  if  you  dare. 
Where  you'll  lie,  and  I'll  spit,  and  I'll  put  your  head  there. 

"  '  Just  come  here,'  answered  Nils,  '  within  reach  of  my  arm  I 
Don't  you  know  that  mere  swagger  can't  do  any  harm 

"  So  they  met :  the  first  grapple  proved  neither  the  best. 
And  the  hot-headed  fellows  prepared  for  the  rest 

14 


KAMPEN 

••At  the  second  round,  Bugge  lost  foothold  and  fell. 
Have  a  care  to  the  game,  Hans  !  you'll  need  to  play  well ! 

•*  But  the  third  time  Nils  flings  him  head-down  on  the  stones 
In  his  blood,  as  he  jeers  *  Spit  away,  lad  I  '—Hans  groans." 

The  boy  sang  no  farther ;  but  there  were  two 
verses  more,  which  his  mother  had  «o/  taught 
him : 

•'  A  tree's  shadow  hast  seen  o'er  pure  shining  snow  pass  ? 
Our  Nils  hast  thou  seen,  when  he  plays  with  a  lass  ? 

"  Our  fine  Nils  hast  thou  seen  as  he  lords  it  in  dance  ? 
Art  thou  Maid  ?    Then  away,  e'er  befall  thee  mischance.' 

These  two  verses  the  grandmother  knew,  and 
they  came  the  more  vividly  back  to  her  now, 
just  because  they  were  left  missing.  She  said 
nothing  to  the  boy,  but  to  the  mother  she  said  : 

"  That's  right :  let  the  boy  know  all  your 
shame  ;  but  don't  forget  the  last  two  verses !  " 

Nils  had  now  so  given  himself  up  to  drink 
that  he  was  no  longer  the  man  he  used  to  be 
There  were  many  folks  who  thought  it  would 
soon  be  all  over  with  him. 

Now  it  happened  that  there  were  two  Ameri- 
cans visiting  the  place,  and  they  heard  that  there 
was  a  bridal  near  at  hand  ;  at  once  they  felt  a 
«S 


ARNE 

desire  to  see  it,  and  observe  the  customs  of  the 
people.  Nils  was  playing  there.  They  gave  a 
thaler  each  to  the  fiddler  and  asked  for  the 
"Hailing."  No  one  would  take  upon  himself 
to  dance  it,  in  spite  of  all  entreaties.  One  after 
another  begged  Nils  himself  to  dance  it ;  he  was 
the  best  of  them,  after  all,  they  said. 

The  more  he  refused,  the  more  they  pressed 
him,  till  at  last  they  were  all  urging  him  to 
dance,  and  that  was  just  what  he  wanted.  He 
handed  his  fiddle  to  another  man,  laid  aside  coat 
and  cap,  and  stepped,  smiling,  into  the  midst  of 
the  group.  All  the  old  anxious  attention  was 
on  him  now,  and  that  gave  him  back  his  former 
vigour  again.  The  onlookers  pressed  round  hira 
as  closely  as  possible,  those  in  the  background 
mounting  on  tables  and  chairs,  some  girls  looked 
over  the  heads  of  the  others.  Most  conspicuous 
among  these  was  a  tall  lass  with  light,  tawny- 
brown  hair,  blue  eyes  set  deep  beneath  a  broad 
brow,  and  a  mouth  with  long  curving  lips  that 
was  often  smiling,  and  was  then  generally  a  little 
awry — it  was  Birgit  BOen.  Nils  saw  her  as  he 
cast  his  eyes  up  towards  the  rafters.  The  musit 
struck  up :  utter  silence  fell  upon  all.  Nils  threw 
x6 


KAMPEN 

himself  into  the  dance.  He  bounded  over  the 
floor,  glided  up  the  room  in  time  to  the  music, 
with  his  body  bending  towards  the  ground, 
swayed  now  to  one  side,  now  to  another,  crossed 
his  legs  suddenly  beneath  him,  sprang  up  again, 
made  as  if  to  throw  himself  over,  and  then  glided 
along  again  all  aslope.  The  fiddle  was  wielded 
by  a  doughty  hand,  and  the  music  grew  more 
and  more  fierce.  Nils  threw  his  head  further 
and  further  back,  and  suddenly  struck  the  beam 
above  him  with  his  heel,  so  that  the  dust  came 
showering  down  on  those  below.  There  were 
shrieks  of  wonder  and  laughter  around  him,  and 
the  girls  stood  looking  at  him  as  if  unable  to 
draw  breath.  The  music  burst  in  upon  them, 
and  spurred  him  on  anew  with  more  and  more 
energy.  Nils  by  no  means  held  back  ;  he  threw 
out  his  limbs,  hopped  in  time  to  the  music, 
gathered  himself  up  as  if  for  another  leap,  then, 
instead  of  taking  it,  glided  forward  again  aslant 
as  before,  till,  just  as  he  saw  no  one  was  expect- 
ing it,  he  dashed  his  heel  against  the  rafter  over- 
head, and  again  and  again  turned  a  somersault, 
now  forward,  then  backwards — and  stood  erect 
and  motionless  on  his  feet.  That  was  enough. 
17  ■ 


ARNE 

The  fiddle  gave  out  a  trill  and  a  flourish,  and 
then  a  few  wavering  deep  tones  ;  finally,  these 
died  away  in  a  single  long  bass  note.  The 
lookers-on  dispersed  about  the  room  :  the  breath- 
less stillness  gave  way  to  quick,  loud  talk,  min- 
gled with  shouts  and  laughter.  Nils  was  standing 
by  the  wall ;  the  Americans  came  over  to  him 
with  their  interpreter,  and  gave  him  five  thalers 
apiece.     Then  there  was  silence  once  more. 

The  Americans  spoke  for  a  moment  or  two 
with  their  interpreter.  Then  the  latter  asked 
him  if  he  would  go  with  them  as  their  servant ; 
he  should  have  whatever  wages  he  asked  for. 

"  Where  am  I  to  go  ?  "  asked  Nils,  while  all 
the  people  pressed  up  to  him  as  close  as  they 
could. 

"  Out  into  the  world,"  was  the  answer. 

"  When  ? "  asked  Nils,  looking  round  him 
with  shining  eyes,  which  encountered  those  of 
Birgit  Been,  and  held  them  fast. 

"  In  a  week,  when  they  come  back,"  he  was 
answered. 

"  Maybe  I  shall  be  ready  then,"  said  Nils, 
weighing  his  two  five-thaler  pieces.  He  had 
leant  one  arm  on  the  shoulder  of  the  man  standing 
i8 


KAMPEN 

next  to  him,  and  now  was  trembling  so  that  the 
latter  tried  to  make  him  sit  down  on  a  bench. 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing  !  "  answered  Nils  ;  and  he 
made  a  few  staggering  steps  over  the  floor,  and 
then  a  firm  one  or  two ;  then  he  turned  and 
called  for  a  jig. 

All  the  girls  had  pressed  forward.  He  looked 
round  at  them  slowly  and  deliberately,  and  then 
went  over  to  one  in  a  dark  frock — it  was  Birgit 
Bden.  He  stretched  forth  his  hand,  and  she  gave 
both  hers.  He  gave  a  laugh,  drew  back,  put  his 
arm  round  a  girl  standing  beside  her,  and  danced 
off  with  hilarious  glee.  The  blood  rushed  to 
Birgit's  neck  and  face.  A  tall,  quiet-looking  man 
stood  just  behind  her;  he  took  her  hand  and 
danced  away  close  after  Nils.  The  latter  saw 
it ;  and  perhaps  from  mere  carelessness  danced 
so  hard  up  against  them  that  the  man  and  Birgit 
fell  to  the  ground  with  a  heavy  fall.  Birgit  got 
up,  crept  aside,  and  burst  out  bitterly  weeping. 

The  quiet-looking  man  got  up  more  slowly  and 
went  straight  up  to  Nils,  who  was  still  going  on 
dancing. 

"  You  must  stop  a  bit,"  said  the  man. 

Nils  paid  no  heed,  so  the  other  took  him  by 
«9 


ARNE 

the  arm.  Nils  tore  himself  loose  and  looked  him 
tn  the  face- 

"  I  don't  know  you,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  No,  but  you've  got  to  know  me  now,"  said 
the  quiet-looking  man,  and  struck  him  straight 
over  the  eyes. 

Nils,  who  was  not  expecting  anything  of  the 
kind,  fell  with  a  dull,  heavy  thud  right  against 
the  sharp  corner  of  the  stone  grate.  He  tried 
to  rise  again,  but  could  not — his  back  was 
broken. 

At  Kampen,  things  had  undergone  a  change. 
The  grandmother  had  been  ailing  of  late,  but  as 
soon  as  she  perceived  it,  she  began  to  work  even 
harder  than  before  to  get  together  the  money  for 
paying  oif  the  final  instalment  of  the  debt  due  on 
the  farm. 

"Then,"  she  said,  "you  and  the  boy  will 
have  all  you  need  ;  but  if  ever  you  let  any  one 
in  to  waste  it  for  you,  I  shall  turn  round  in  my 
grave." 

When  autumn  drew  on  she  had  had  the  satis- 
faction of  being  able  to  jog  up  to  the  former 
owner  of  the  land  with  the  last  portion  of  the 
debt ;  and  a  happy  woman  was  she  when  she 

20 


KAMPEN 

sat  in  her  chair  at  home  again,  and  said  :  "  Well, 
that's  done  now !  "  But  that  very  day  she  was 
stricken  with  mortal  sickness.  She  had  to  take 
to  her  bed,  and  she  never  left  it  again.  Her 
daughter  buried  her  in  the  churchyard,  where 
there  was  room  for  the  sleepers,  and  set  up  a 
fine  headstone,  on  which  were  graved  her  name, 
her  age,  and  a  verse  of  one  of  Kingo's  hymns. 

A  fortnight  after  the  funeral,  the  grandmother's 
black  Sunday  gown  was  made  into  clothes  for 
the  boy,  and  as  he  stood  in  them,  he  looked  as 
grave  as  if  she  were  come  back  to  life  again.  Of 
his  own  accord,  he  went  to  the  clasped  book  with 
big  print  that  his  grandmother  had  read  and 
sung  out  of  every  Sunday ;  he  opened  it,  and 
found  her  spectacles  lying  there.  These  the 
boy  had  never  been  allowed  to  touch  all  his 
life ;  now  he  took  them  timidly  up,  put  them  on 
his  nose,  and  looked  through  them  at  the  book. 
All  was  misty.  "  That's  a  very  funny  thing," 
thought  the  boy ;  "  that  was  how  grandmother 
used  to  read  God's  word."  He  held  them  up  to 
the  light,  to  see  what  was  the  matter  with  them 
— and  there  lay  the  spectacles  on  the  floor ! 

He  was  very  frightened,  and,  as  the  door  at 


ARNE 

that  moment  began  to  open,  it  seemed  to  him  as 
if  grandmother  must  be  just  about  to  come  in; 
but  it  was  his  mother  and  six  men,  who,  with 
much  noise  and  tramping  of  feet,  carried  in  a  litter 
between  them,  and  set  it  down  in  the  middle  oi 
the  floor.  The  door  stood  open  behind  them 
for  a  time,  so  that  the  cold  air  came  into  the 
room. 

On  the  litter  lay  a  man  with  black  hair  and  a 
pale  face.     The  mother  walked  about,  weeping. 

"Lay  him  carefully  down  on  the  bed,"  she 
besought  them,  and  helped  them  to  do  so.  But 
all  the  while  the  men  were  moving  about  with 
him,  there  was  a  noise  of  something  being 
crushed  under  their  feet. 

"Ah,  that's  only  grandmother's  spectacles," 
thought  the  boy  ;  but  he  did  not  say  it. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   WEDDING 

This  was  in  the  autumn,  as  we  have  said.  A 
week  after  the  day  that  Nils  Skraedder  was 
taken  to  Margit  Kampen's,  came  a  message  from 
the  Americans  that  he  was  to  hold  himself  in 
readiness.  He  happened  just  then  to  be  lying 
writhing  in  dreadful  pain  ;  he  bit  his  teeth 
together  and  cried  out : 

"  Let  them  go  to  the  devil ! " 

Margit  stood  still  by  his  bed,  as  if  she  had 
had  no  answer.  He  noticed  it,  and  a  moment 
after,  in  a  weary  voice,  he  repeated : 

"  Let  them— go !  " 

When  winter  drew  on,  he  had  got  so  far 
better  that  he  could  sit  up,  though  his  health 
was  ruined  for  all  his  days.  The  first  time  he 
really  got  up,  he  drew  forth  his  violin  and  tuned 
it ;   but  it  worked  him  up   to  such  a  pitch   of 


ARNE 

excitement  that  he  had  to  go  back  to  bed  again. 
He  was  very  silent  now,  though  easy  to  get  on 
with,  and  as  time  went  by  he  began  to  read 
with  the  boy,  and  to  do  work  in  the  house ;  but 
he  never  went  out,  nor  did  he  talk  with  people 
who  came  to  see  him.  At  first,  Margit  used  to 
tell  him  news  about  things  in  the  parish ;  but 
after  it  he  would  fall  into  a  fit  of  gloomy  depres- 
sion, so  she  gave  it  up. 

As  spring  came  on,  he  and  Margit  began  to 
sit  up  later  than  before,  and  talk  together  after 
their  supper.  The  boy  was  at  those  times  sent 
off  to  bed.  Soon  after  the  beginning  of  spring, 
their  banns  were  given  out  in  church,  and  they 
were  then  quietly  married. 

He  took  part  in  the  work  in  the  fields,  and 
looked  after  everything  sensibly  and  without 
fuss.  To  the  boy,  Margit  said :  "  There  is  both 
help  and  comfort  in  him  for  us.  Now  you  must 
be  good  and  obedient,  and  do  all  that  you  can 
for  him." 

Margit  had  been  a  buxom  lass  through  all 
her  trouble ;  her  face  was  ruddy  and  her  eyes 
very  large,  and  they  looked  the  larger  for  the 
nng  that  had  come  round  them.     Her  lips  were 

«4 


THE   WEDDING 

full,  and  her  face  round,  fresh,  and  healthy- 
looking,  though  she  was  not  very  strong.  Now 
she  looked  nicer  than  ever  before,  and  she  was 
constantly  singing,  as  was  her  wont,  when  she 
was  at  work. 

Now  it  happened  one  Sunday  afternoon  thai 
father  and  son  had  gone  out,  to  see  how  things 
were  getting  on  in  the  fields.  Arne  was  frisking 
merrily  along  by  his  father,  aiming  hither  and 
thither  with  a  bow  and  arrows,  which  Nils 
himself  had  made  for  the  boy.  Thus  going 
along,  they  got  on  to  the  road  that  led  from  the 
church  and  the  parsonage  into  what  was  known 
as  "  The  Plain."  Nils  sat  down  on  a  stone  by 
the  wayside  and  was  soon  lost  in  thought ;  the 
Doy  darted  about  in  the  road,  and  ran  after  his 
arrows,  moving  in  the  direction  of  the  church. 

"  Take  care  ! "  cried  the  father,  "  don't  go 
too  far  away ! "  Suddenly  the  boy  stopped 
short  in  his  agile  movements,  as  if  he  were 
listening. 

"  Father ! "  he  shouted,  "  I  hear  music ! " 

The  man  listened  too ;  there  was  the  sound 
of  fiddles  and  of  loud  and  merry  shouts  accom- 
panied by  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  and  the 
as 


ARNE 

rumbling  of  carriage  wheels;  it  was  a  bridal 
party  coming  back  from  the  church. 

"  Come  here,  boy  ! "  shouted  the  father,  and 
Arne  knew  from  his  voice  that  he  must  come  at 
once. 

Nils  had  suddenly  risen,  and  drawn  back 
behind  a  great  tree.     The  boy  followed. 

"Not  here  —  there!"  And  the  boy  fled 
behind  a  clump  of  alders.  The  train  of  car- 
riages was  already  turning  the  corner  by  the 
birch  copse,  and  they  came  galloping  along :  the 
horses  were  white  with  foam,  and  men  and 
women  merry  with  drink  were  shouting  and 
singing.  Father  and  son  counted  carriage  after 
carriage ;  there  were  in  all  fourteen.  In  the 
first  sat  two  fiddlers,  and  the  bride-march  rang 
out  through  the  clear,  dry  air ;  a  boy  stood  up 
behind  them,  driving.  Next  came  the  bride, 
with  a  wreath  on  her  head,  sitting  tall  and 
bright  in  the  rays  of  the  sun  ;  she  was  smiling, 
with  her  lips  curved  slightly  to  one  side ;  by 
her  side  was  a  man  in  blue  clothes,  with  a 
gentle,  cheerful  face.  A  long  procession  followed ; 
men  sitting  on  women's  laps,  little  lads  perched 
up  behind  them,  drunken  folks  driving,  half  a 
a6 


THE   WEDDING 

dozen  pulled  along  by  one  horse ;  in  the  last 
trehicle  came  the  caterer,  holding  a  keg  of  brandy 
on  his  knees.  They  sped  on,  shouting  and 
singing,  and  dashed  headlong  down  the  hill. 
The  noise  of  the  fiddlers,  the  shouts  of  merri- 
ment, and  the  rattling  of  wheels  was  borne  back 
through  the  cloud  of  dust  that  followed  them,  then 
melted  into  one  single  sound,  which  gave  place 
to  a  dull  murmur,  and  finally  died  away.  Nils 
was  still  standing  motionless,  when  he  heard  a 
rustle  behind  him  ;  he  turned  round  ;  it  was  the 
boy  creeping  forth  again. 

"Who  was  that,  father?"  But  Arne  started 
^s  he  saw  the  gloom  on  his  father's  face ;  he 
stood  still,  waiting  for  an  answer,  and  then 
remained  standing  still  because  he  got  none. 
At  last  his  patience  gave  out,  and  he  ventured 
again.     "  Shall  we  go  ?  "  he  murmured. 

Nils  seemed  still  to  be  looking  after  the  bridal 
train,  but  now  he  pulled  himself  together,  and 
began  to  move.  Arne  followed  him.  He  put 
an  arrow  to  his  bow,  shot  it  away,  and  ran  off 
after  it. 

"  Don't  trample  the  grass  down !  "  said  Nils 
sternly.  The  boy  let  the  arrow  lie  where  it 
37 


ARNE 

was,  and  came  back  again.  Presently,  though, 
he  forgot,  and  whilst  his  father  stood  still  again, 
he  threw  himself  down  on  the  meadow,  and 
began  turning  somersaults. 

"Don't  trample  the  grass  down,  I  tell  you  !  " 
cried  Nils,  and  pulled  the  boy  up  by  the  arm  as 
if  he  meant  to  dislocate  it.  After  that,  the  boy 
followed  his  father  in  silence. 

Margit  stood  in  the  doorway  waiting  for 
them  ;  she  had  just  come  back  from  the  cow- 
house, where  she  must  have  been  hard  at  work, 
for  her  hair  was  all  untidy,  her  linen  was  soiled 
and  stained,  and  her  clothes  were  in  tlie  same 
state ;  but  she  smiled  as  she  stood  there  in  the 
doorway. 

"  Some  of  the  cows  got  loose,"  she  said,  "and  did 
some  mischief,  but  they're  made  fast  again  now." 

*'  Can't  you  manage  to  look  a  bit  decent  of 
Sundays  ? "  said  Nils,  going  past  her  into  the 
sitting-room. 

"Yes.  Now  that  work's  over,  it's  time  to 
get  tidy,"  said  Margit,  as  she  followed  him.  She 
immediately  began  to  change  her  clothes,  singing 
as  she  did  so.  Now  Margit  sang  well,  but  at 
times  she  was  a  trifle  hoarse. 
28 


THE   WEDDING 

"Stop  that  row!  "shouted  Nils,  from  the  bed, 
on  which  he  had  thrown  himself,  and  Margit 
was  silent  at  once. 

Just  then  in  rushed  the  boy. 

"  There's  a  great  black  dog,"  he  cried,  "  that's 
come  running  into  the  yard  —  a  great  ugly 
thing " 

"  Shut  up,  boy ! "  yelled  Nils,  getting  half  off 
the  bed  to  stamp  with  one  foot  on  the  ground. 
"  Curse  it,  the  devil  must  be  in  the  brat ! "  he 
mumbled,  as  he  drew  up  his  foot  again.  The 
mother  gave  the  boy  a  threatening  glance. 
"  Can't  you  see  father's  not  in  good  spirits  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  Won't  you  have  some  strong  coffee  with 
syrup  in  it  ? "  she  went  on  to  Nils,  trying  to 
coax  him  into  good  humour  again.  This  was  a 
beverage  that  the  grandmother  had  liked,  and 
the  others  too.  Nils  had  no  liking  for  it,  but 
he  used  to  drink  it  all  the  same,  because  the 
others  did  so.  "  Won't  you  have  some  strong 
coffee  and  syrup  ?  "  she  repeated,  for  he  had  not 
answered  the  first  time.  Nils  raised  himself  on 
his  elbows :  "  Do  you  think,"  he  screamed,  "  I'll 
swallow  that  muck  ?  '* 

39 


ARNE 

Margit  was  dumb  with  astonishment :  she  put 
her  hand  on  the  boy,  and  went  out  with  him. 

They  had  various  things  to  do  out  of  doors, 
and  so  they  did  not  come  back  till  supper-time. 
Nils  was  not  within.  Arne  was  sent  out  to  the 
fields  to  call  him  in,  but  he  could  not  find  him 
anywhere.  They  waited  till  the  food  was  nearly 
cold;  but  when  they  had  finished  supper  Nils 
was  not  yet  back.  Margit  began  to  grow 
anxious ;  she  sent  the  boy  to  bed,  and  sat  down 
to  wait.     A  little  after  midnight,  in  came  Nils. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  dear  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  That's  no  business  of  yours,"  he  answered, 
and  sat  slowly  down  on  the  bench.  He  was 
drunk. 

From  that  day,  Nils  was  constantly  going 
about  the  neighbourhood,  and  each  time  he  came 
back  again  tipsy. 

'*  I  can't  stand  it  here  with  you,"  he  cried 
once  when  he  came  in.  She  began  to  defend 
herself  with  gentle  words,  but  he  stamped  upon 
the  floor,  and  bade  her  be  silent.  If  he  was 
drunk,  that  was  her  fault,  he  said.  If  he  was 
wicked,  that  was  her  fault  too.  If  he  was  a 
cripple  and  a  miserable  creature  for  all  the  days 
30 


THE   WEDDING 

of  his  life,  that  was  all  the  fault  of  her,  and 
that  confounded  brat  of  hers. 

"Why,"  he  cried,  bursting  into  tears,  "were 
you  always  coming  after  me,  and  hanging  about 
me  ?  What  harm  did  I  do  you,  that  you  could 
not  leave  me  in  peace  ?  " 

"But  Heaven  bless  me  and  preserve  me!" 
said  Margit,  "was  it  I  that  came  after  you 
then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  it  was ! "  he  screamed  through  his 
tears;  and  springing  up  he  went  on:  "And 
now  at  last  you've  got  it  all  as  you  wanted  it ; 
I  go  crawling  about  here  from  tree  to  tree; 
every  day  I  creep  around,  looking  at  my  own 
grave.  And  I  might  have  lived  grandly  with 
the  richest  and  finest  girl  in  the  place,  I  might 
have  travelled  as  far  as  the  sun  travels,  had  not 
you  and  your  confounded  boy  thrown  yourselves 
in  my  way." 

"  That  was  no  fault  of  the  boy's,  at  any  rate," 
she  said,  trying  once  more  to  defend  herself. 

"  If  you  won't  hold  your  noise,"  he  screamed, 
"  I'll  strike  you ! "     And  he  struck  her. 

Next  day,  when  he  had  slept  off  the  effects  of 
the  liquor,  he  was  ashamed  of  himself,  and  much 
31 


ARNE 

kinder  than  usual  to  the  boy.  But  he  soon 
drank  again,  and  then  again  he  struck  her ;  at 
length  he  got  to  beating  her  each  time  he  was 
tipsy.  The  boy  wept  and  moaned,  and  then  ht 
got  beaten  too.  At  times,  too.  Nils  was  so  wild 
with  remorse  that  he  could  not  stay  within 
doors.  Now,  too,  he  began  to  yearn  to  go  to 
dances  again ;  he  played  his  fiddle  as  of  old, 
and  took  the  boy  with  him  to  carry  the  case. 
There  Arne  saw  many  things.  The  mother 
wept  at  the  lad's  constantly  going  to  such  places, 
but  dared  not  say  anything  to  the  father. 

"Cling  fast  to  God,"  she  earnestly  begged 
him,  as  she  kissed  him,  "and  learn  nothing 
wicked." 

But  it  was  very  cheerful  and  amusing,  and 
here  at  home  it  was  neither  cheerful  nor  amusing. 
He  turned  more  and  more  from  her  and  to  his 
father:  she  marked  it,  and  was  silent.  Arne 
picked  up  all  sorts  of  songs  at  these  dances, 
and  sang  them  afterwards  to  his  father;  this 
amused  the  latter,  and  sometimes  the  boy  was 
even  able  to  make  him  laugh.  This  so  flattered 
the  lad  that  he  took  care  to  learn  as  many  songs 
as  possible ;  he  soon  got  to  see  what  sort  his 
32 


THE    WEDDING 

father  liked  best,  and  what  it  was  in  them  that 
he  laughed  at.  If  there  was  nothing  of  the  sort 
in  the  song,  the  boy  put  it  in  himself  as  well  as 
he  could,  and  so  he  early  got  used  to  putting 
words  to  music.  Nils  liked  best  to  hear  jeering 
songs  and  scoffing  ditties  about  folks  who  had 
risen  to  prosperity  and  power;  so  that  was  the 
sort  of  thing  that  Arne  sang. 

At  length  the  mother  wished  to  have  him  with 
her  of  an  evening  to  help  in  the  cow-shed  ;  he 
made  all  sorts  of  excuses  to  get  off,  but  they 
proved  unavailing,  and  he  had  to  go  with  her. 
Then  it  was  that  she  spoke  earnestly  to  him  of 
God  and  all  that  is  good,  and  ended,  as  she  folded 
him  in  her  arms,  by  tearfully  begging  and  pray- 
ing him  not  to  grow  up  a  bad  man. 

The  mother  used  to  read  with  him,  and  the 
boy  was  most  wonderfully  quick  to  learn.  His 
father  was  ver  y  proud  of  this,  and  got  into  the 
way  of  telling  him — especially  when  he  had 
been  drinking — that  he  had  his  head. 

At   the  dances   Nils   soon  grew   accustomed, 

when  the  drink  had  got  the  better  of  him,   to 

order  Arne  to  sing  to  the  company.     The  boy 

sang  one  song  after  another,  amid  loud  applause 

33  c 


ARNE 

and  laughter  j  the  applause  delighted  the  boy 
almost  more  than  it  did  Nils,  so  that  at  last  there 
was  no  end  to  the  songs  he  learned  to  sing. 
Anxious  mothers,  hearing  him,  went  to  his  own 
mother  and  told  her,  for  the  songs  he  sang  were 
not  fit  for  a  boy.  The  mother  took  the  boy 
aside,  and  bade  him,  in  the  name  of  God  and  all 
that  is  good,  not  to  sing  such  songs;  and  now 
it  seemed  to  the  boy  that  his  mother  was  against 
everything  he  delighted  in.  He  told  his  father 
for  the  first  time  what  his  mother  had  said.  She 
had  to  suffer  for  it  in  consequence  next  time  Nils 
got  drunk,  but  after  that  Arne  never  told  him 
anything  again.  What  he  had  done  came  now 
vividly  before  the  lad,  and  in  his  soul  he  besought 
God  and  her  for  forgiveness,  for  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  do  so  openly.  The  mother  was  as  kind 
to  him  as  ever,  and  this  cut  hira  to  the  heart. 

Once,  however,  he  forgot  himself.  He  had 
the  power  of  mimicking  anybody,  especially  as 
regards  their  way  of  speaking  and  singing.  One 
evening,  when  he  was  amusing  his  father  by  this, 
his  mother  came  in,  and  when  she  had  gone  out 
again,  it  came  into  Nils's  head  to  make  the  boy 
imitate  his  mother's  singing.  At  first  he  refused, 
34 


THE   WEDDING 

but  the  father,  who  lay  on  the  bed,  laughing  so 
that  his  sides  shook,  persisted  obstinately  in  his 
demand. 

"  Well,"  thought  the  boy,  "  she's  a  good  way 
off,  so  she  won't  hear  it " ;  and  he  sang  just  as 
she  did  at  times  when  she  was  hoarse  and  in- 
clined to  tears.  The  father  laughed  so  that  it 
almost  frightened  the  lad,  and  he  left  off  of  his 
own  accord.  Then  Margit  came  in  from  the 
kitchen,  looked  mournfully  and  steadfastly  at 
Arne,  walked  over  to  the  dresser  for  a  bowl,  and 
went  out  again. 

Arne  felt  hot  as  fire  throughout  his  whole 
body.  She  had  heard  it  all,  then !  He  jumped 
down  from  the  table  on  which  he  had  been  sitting, 
dashed  out,  and  threw  himself  down  on  the  ground 
as  if  he  would  fain  bury  himself  in  it.  He  could 
not  rest ;  he  sprang  up,  feeling  he  must  get 
further  away.  He  rushed  by  the  barn,  and  there 
behind  it  sat  his  mother,  hemming  a  new  and 
fine  shirt  for  him.  At  other  times  she  used  to 
sing  a  hymn  over  her  work  when  she  sat  thus , 
now  she  was  not  singing — not  that  she  was 
weeping,  either — she  was  just  sitting  still,  sew- 
ing. But  Arne  could  contain  himself  no  longer ; 
35 


ARNE 

he  threw  himself  down  on  the  grass  at  her  feet, 
looked  up  at  her,  and  sobbed  passionately.  The 
mother  let  her  sewing  fall,  and  took  his  head  in 
her  hands. 

"  Poor  Arne ! "  she  said,  and  put  her  face 
against  his. 

He  did  not  make  an  attempt  to  speak,  but 
wept  as  he  never  had  before. 

"  I  knew  all  the  time,"  said  the  mother, 
stroking  his  hair,  "  that  you  were  good  at  heart." 

"  Mother,  you  won't  say  No  to  what  I'm  going 
to  ask  you  ?  "  was  the  first  thing  he  could  say. 

"  That  you  know  I  never  do,"  was  the  answer. 

He  tried  to  check  his  tears,  and  then,  with 
his  head  in  her  lap,  he  blurted  out : 

"  Mother,  sing  me  something ! " 

"  My  dear,  I  can't,  you  know,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"Mother,  sing  me  something!"  implored  he, 
"else  I'll  never  believe  that  I'm  fit  to  look  at 


you  agam 


She  stroked  his  hair,  but  made  no  sound. 

"  Mother,    sing,   sing !    do  you   hear,   sing ! " 
he  sobbed  out,  "  else  111  go  far  away  and  never 
come  back  home  again." 
36 


THE   WEDDING 

And  as  he  lay  there,  big  boy  of  over  fourteen 
as  he  was,  with  his  head  in  his  mother's  lap,  she 
began  to  sing  over  him : 

•'  Lord,  protect  this  little  child, 
Flaying  on  the  rugged  shore. 
Round  him  let  Thy  Spirit  mild 
Cast  its  bonds  for  evermore. 
Mighty  waves  nor  treach'rous  sand 
Tear  him  from  that  sacred  band. 
Safe  and  blessed  may  he  live. 
Praise  to  Thee  and  glory  give. 

"  Mother  sits  in  anxious  pain. 
Knowing  not  why  thus  he  tarries ; 
Calls  him  o'er  and  o'er  again. 
No  reply  the  stillness  carries. 
Yet  she  knows,  where'er  the  spot. 
Help  divine  forsakes  him  not. 
Far  from  angry  wave  and  foam, 
Jesus  leads  him  gently  home." 

She  sang  several  verses :  Arne  lay  still,  for  a 
holy  peace  had  fallen  upon  him,  and  under  its 
sway  he  felt  refreshed,  and  wearily  restful. 
The  last  word  that  he  heard  distinctly  was 
"  Jesus."  It  seemed  to  carry  him  into  a  great 
burst  of  light  where  twelve  or  thirteen  voices 
sang  clear ;  and  above  them  all  he  could  hear 
his  mother's.  Sweeter  music  he  had  never 
known  ;  he  prayed  that  it  might  be  given  him 
37 


ARNE 

SO  to  Sing.  It  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  were 
to  sing  very  softly,  he  too  should  learn  how  to 
4o  it ;  so  now  he  began  to  sing  softly,  and  then 
more  and  more  softly,  until  the  music  seemed 
well-nigh  heavenly,  and  in  his  joy  at  this  he 
pealed  forth  in  loud  tones — and  all  was  at  an 
end.  He  was  awake  again :  he  looked  up  and 
listened  intently,  but  nothing  struck  on  his  ear, 
save  the  mighty,  unceasing  noise  of  the  water- 
fall, and  the  sound  of  the  little  streamlet  which, 
with  soft  and  constant  murmur,  flowed  close  by 
the  barn.  The  mother  had  gone  ;  but  first  she 
had  laid  beneath  his  head  her  jacket  and  the 
half-finished  shirt. 


CHAPTER  IV 

DAYBREAK 

Now  that  the  time  had  come  for  the  cattle  to  be 
looked  after  in  the  woods,  Arne  wanted  to  tend 
them.  Nils  was  against  it  ;  as  yet  Arne  had 
never  taken  part  in  such  work,  and  he  was  now 
in  his  fifteenth  year.  But  he  pleaded  his  cause 
so  well,  that  it  was  decided  in  the  way  he  wished, 
and  all  that  spring,  summer,  and  autumn  he  was 
only  at  home  to  sleep  ;  he  was  in  the  woods  b}' 
himself  the  livelong  day. 

He  took  his  books  with  him  to  the  woods :  he 
spent  his  time  in  reading  and  cutting  letters  on 
the  bark  of  trees,  in  walking  and  thinking,  in 
dreamy  yearnings  and  singing ;  but  in  the 
evening,  when  he  got  home,  the  father  would 
often  be  drunk  and  strike  the  mother,  cursing 
her  and  the  place  as  he  boasted  about  once  having 
had  the  chance  of  travelling  far  away  from  it  all. 
99 


ARNE 

Then  the  boy  was  seized  with  a  longing  for 
travel.  At  home  all  was  amiss,  and  his  books 
increased  his  longing  to  depart — nay,  sometimes 
the  very  air  seemed  to  be  calling  him  away  over 
the  mighty  mountains. 

Thus  things  were,  when  at  midsummer  time 
he  fell  in  with  Kristen,  the  Captain's  eldest  son, 
who  had  come  to  the  woods  with  one  of  the 
farm  lads  for  the  horses,  so  as  to  ride  back  home. 
He  was  a  boy  a  few  years  older  than  Arne,  light- 
hearted  and  full  of  fun,  ever  restless  in  all  his 
thoughts,  but,  notwithstanding,  firm  and  stead- 
fast of  purpose.  He  spoke  quickly  and  jerkily, 
and,  for  choice,  of  two  things  at  a  time ;  he  rode 
horses  bare-backed  ;  shot  birds  on  the  wing,  and 
knew  all  about  fly-fishing ;  in  short,  he  seemed 
to  Arne  a  very  model  in  all  things.  He,  too, 
was  yearning  to  travel,  and  talked  to  Arne  of 
far-off  lands  till  they  seemed  to  lie  shining 
before  him.  He  found  out  Arne's  love  of 
reading,  and  brought  up  to  him  books  that  he 
himself  had  read,  and  when  these  were  finished 
he  got  new  ones.  On  Sundays  he  would  come 
with  geography  and  maps,  and  explain  them 
to   him,    and    Arne   read    so  eagerly  all    that 

♦0 


DAYBREAK 

Bummer  and  autumn  that  he  grew  quite  pale 
and  thin. 

In  the  winter  he  got  them  to  let  him  read  at 
home,  partly  because  he  was  to  be  confirmed 
next  year,  and  partly  because  he  had  a  way  of 
managing  his  father.  He  began,  too,  to  go  to 
school  now ;  but  there  he  was  most  content  when 
he  could  shut  his  eyes  and  call  up  to  his  mind 
his  books  at  home.  He  had  no  longer  any 
friends  among  the  peasant  lads. 

The  father's  ill-treatment  of  the  mother 
increased  with  years,  as  did  also  his  physical 
ailments  and  his  drunkenness.  But  when,  spite 
of  this,  Arne  had  to  sit  at  home  and  amuse  him  to 
get  his  mother  an  hour's  peace,  and  to  do  so  had 
often  to  talk  in  a  way  which  now  in  his  heart  he 
despised,  he  began  to  loathe  his  father;  but  this 
feeling  he  kept  closely  to  himself,  as  he  did  his 
love  for  his  mother.  When  he  met  Kristen, 
their  talk  was  ever  of  travel  and  books ;  he  said 
nothing,  even  to  him,  of  how  things  were  at 
home.  But  many  a  time  when,  after  converse 
of  wide  wanderings  with  him,  he  walked  home 
alone,  and  thought  of  what  would  very  likely  be 
going  on  there,  he  burst  into  tears,  and  prayed 
4« 


ARNE 

to  God  among  His  stars  to  order  things  that  it 
should  be  granted  him  to  journey  forth  before 
long. 

In  summer,  Kristen  and  he  were  confirmed. 
Straightway  the  former  began  to  carry  out  his 
plans.  His  father  had  no  choice  but  to  let  him 
go  away  and  become  a  sailor.  He  gave  Arne 
his  books,  promised  to  write  to  him  often,  and 
fared  forth. 

So  now  Arne  was  left  alone. 

It  was  then  that  the  longing  to  write  songs 
came  again  upon  him.  But  now  he  no  longer 
patched  up  old  ones  ;  he  composed  new  songs, 
putting  into  them  all  that  most  oppressed  his 
spirit. 

But  his  heart  was  too  heavy,  and  his  grief 
could  not  be  pressed  into  verse.  Through  the 
long  nights  he  lay  sleepless,  till  at  last  it  seemed 
quite  certain  to  him  that  he  could  no  longer 
endure  his  life  there.  He  must  go  away  and 
find  Kristen,  he  felt,  without  saying  a  word  to 
any  one.  But  when  he  thought  of  his  mother, 
and  of  what  would  become  of  her,  he  scarcely 
dared  to  look  her  in  the  face. 

One  night  at  this  time,  he  was  sitting  up  very 
42 


DAYBREAK 

late  reading.  Whenever  he  felt  more  depressed 
than  usual,  it  was  his  books  he  fled  to,  never 
noticing  that  they  only  made  him  suffer  the  more. 
The  father  was  away  at  a  wedding-feast,  but  was 
expected  home  that  evening;  the  mother  was 
tired  and  dreaded  his  return,  so  had  gone  to 
bed.  Arne  heard  a  dull  fall  in  the  passage,  and 
started  up ;  there  was  the  noise  of  some  heavy 
thing  striking  against  the  door.  It  was  the 
father  returning. 

Arne  opened  the  door,  and  looked  down  at 
him. 

"  Is  that  you,  my  bright  boy  ? "  hiccupped 
Nils  ;  "  then  come  and  help  your  daddy  up." 

Arne  lifted  him  up  and  supported  him  to  a 
bench,  picked  up  the  fiddle-case,  brought  it  in 
too,  and  shut  the  door. 

"  Aye,  look  at  me,  my  bright  boy,"  Nils 
rambled  on.  "  I'm  not  much  to  look  at  now. 
I'm  no  longer  the  Nils  I  once  was.  Let  this 
warn  you — I  warn  you — you — nev — never  to 
touch  brandy ;  that's  the  very  Devil — the  World, 
the  Flesh,  the  Devil.  '  He  resisteth  the  proud, 
but  giveth  grace  to  the  humble  and  meek.'  Alas ! 
alas !  what  have  I  come  to  1 " 
43 


(IlRNE 

He  sat  still  for  a  moment,  and  then  sang 
through  his  drunken  tears : 

"  •  Jesas  Christ,  Redeemer  mine, 
Help  I  need,  so  grant  me  Thine ; 
Deep  in  mire  although  I  lie. 
Still  Thine  erring  child  am  I.' 

*  Lord,  I  am  not  worthy  that  Thou  shouldst  enter 
under  my  roof,  but  say  but  the  word ' " 

He  threw  himself  forward,  hid  his  face  in  his 
tiands,  and  sobbed  convulsively.  Long  he  lay 
thus,  and  then  he  began  to  repeat  word  for  word 
from  the  Bible,  as  he  had  learnt  it  more  than 
twenty  years  before : 

"But  she  came  and  begged  Him,  and  said: 
Lord,  help  me!  But  he  answered  and  said: 
It  is  not  meet  to  take  the  children's  bread  and 
cast  it  to  the  dogs.  But  she  said :  Yea,  Lord, 
but  the  dogs  eat  of  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  the 
master's  table." 

He  relapsed  into  silence  again,  but  wept  more 
freely  and  less  violently. 

The  mother  had  long  been  awake,  but  had  not 
dared  to  look  up  ;  but  now  when  she  heard  him 
weeping  as  one  who  had  been  saved,  she  raised 
herself  on  her  elbows  and  looked  up. 
44 


DAYBREAK 

But  no  sooner  did  Nils  catch  sight  of  her  than 
he  screamed : 

"  Do  you  look  up — you  ?  you  want  to  sec 
what  you've  brought  me  to,  don't  you  ?  Yes, 
this  is  what  I  look  like,  just  this — here  before 
you ! "  He  began  to  rise,  and  she  crouched 
beneath  the  fur  coverlet.  "  No,  no,  don't  hide 
yourself  I  I'll  find  you  soon  enough,"  he  said, 
and  stretching  out  his  right  hand,  he  began  to 
fumble  about  with  his  forefinger.  "Tickle! 
Tickle  !  "  he  cried,  and  he  drew  aside  the  coverlet 
and  put  his  forefinger  on  her  throat. 

"  Father  !  "  cried  Arne. 

"  Look  how  shrivelled  up  and  lean  you've 
got,"  Nils  went  on;  "there's  not  far  to  go  in 
this.  Tickle!  tickle!"  The  mother  convul- 
sively seized  his  hand  with  both  hers,  but  she 
could  not  free  herself  from  his  grasp ;  she 
crouched  in  a  heap  beneath  the  coverlet. 

"  Father  I  "  cried  Arne  again. 

"  So  1  there's  some  life  in  you  yet,  is  there  ?  " 
Nils  went  on,  unheeding.  "  What  a  sight  she 
is  when  she  wriggles,  too !    Tickle !  tickle !  " 

"  Father ! "    cried  Arne  once  more,  and  the 
room  began  to  go  up  and  down. 
45 


ARNE 

"  Tickle,  I  say  I "  screamed  Nils. 

She  let  go  his  hands  and  gave  herself  up  to 
her  fate. 

"  Father ! "  shrieked  Arne,  and  rushed  to  a 
corner  of  the  room  where  stood  an  axe. 

"It's  only  obstinacy  that  keeps  you  from 
crying  out,"  Nils  went  on.  "  You'd  better 
take  care,  though ;  such  a  funny  thought's  got 
hold  of  me  now  !     Tickle,  tickle  !  " 

"  Father ! "  cried  Arne,  and  grasped  the  axe, 
but  stood  still  as  if  nailed  to  the  floor  ;  for  at 
that  moment  the  father  rose  up,  gave  a  piercing 
shriek,  pressed  his  hand  to  his  heart,  and  fell 
to  the  earth.  "  Jesus  Christ,"  came  to  his  lips, 
and  then  he  lay  quite  still. 

Arne  scarcely  knew  where  he  stood  or  what 
was  before  him  ;  he  almost  expected  the  room 
to  burst  apart,  and  a  flash  from  the  heavens  to 
fall  upon  it.  The  mother  began  to  draw  long, 
deep  breaths,  as  if  she  had  freed  herself  of  an 
incubus  ;  at  last  she  raised  herself  in  the  bed, 
and  saw  the  father  lying  outstretched  on  the 
floor,  with  the  son  standing  by  him,  axe  in 
hand. 

"  Merciful  Heaven !  what  have  you  done  ? " 
46 


DAYBREAK 

she  shrieked,  as,  springing  out  of  bed,  and 
throwing  a  garment  round  her,  she  drew  near 
to  him.  Then  something  seemed  to  set  free 
Arne's  tongue. 

"  He  fell  down  by  himself,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  Oh  Arne,  Arne,  1  don't  believe  you ! "  cried 
the  mother  in  an  earnest,  reproachful  voice. 
"  Now  may  Christ  help  you  ! "  And  she  cast 
herself  upon  the  body,  with  a  burst  of  wailing. 

But  now  the  boy  began  to  emerge  from  his 
bewilderment,  and  he  too  fell  on  his  knees. 

"Sure  as  I  hope  for  mercy  from  God,"  he 
said,  "  he  fell  of  himself,  just  as  he  stood  there." 

"Then  our  Lord  Himself  has  been  here!" 
said  the  woman  quietly,  and,  raising  herself  on 
her  knees,  she  gazed  fixedly  before  her. 

Nils  lay  just  as  he  fell,  with  stiffened  limbs, 
and  open  eyes  and  mouth.  His  hands  were 
near  together,  as  if  he  had  tried  to  fold  them, 
but  had  not  had  time. 

"Come,"  said  the  mother,  "you  are  strong; 
help  me  to  lift  your  father  up,  so  that  he  may 
lie  on  the  bed." 

They  raised  him  up  and  laid  him  on  it :  she 
47 


ARNE 

closed  his  eyes  and  mouth,  straightened  out  his 
limbs,  and  folded  his  hands. 

They  both  stood  there  looking  at  him.  All 
that  they  had  lived  through  before  seemed  not 
to  have  lasted  so  long,  nor  to  have  had  so  much 
in  it,  as  had  the  last  hour.  If  the  Devil  himself 
had  been  there,  so  also  had  God  ;  the  encounter 
had  been  brief.  All  that  had  been  was  now 
over  and  done. 

It  was  now  a  little  past  midnight,  and  they 
had  to  watch  by  the  dead  till  daybreak.  Arne 
went  to  the  hearth  and  made  a  great  fire ;  the 
mother  sat  down  beside  it.  And  as  she  sat 
there,  she  thought  of  the  many  evil  days  she 
had  gone  through  with  Nils,  so  that  she  thanked 
God  in  fever-fervent  prayer  for  what  he  had 
done.  "  But  all  the  same  I  had  some  happy 
days  with  him,  too,"  she  said,  and  wept  as  if  in 
remorse  for  the  thanksgiving  that  had  just 
escaped  her  ;  and  before  long  she  was  taking  all 
the  blame  upon  herself,  in  that,  for  love  of  the 
dead,  she  had  transgressed  God's  law,  and 
broken  her  mother's  commands  ;  and  therefore 
(she  thought)  it  was  right  for  her  own  sinful 
love  to  have  been  her  punishment. 
48 


DAYBREAK 

Arnc  sat  down  opposite  to  her.  The  mother 
glanced  at  the  bed  and  said  : 

"  Arne,  you  must  remember  that  it's  for  your 
sake  I  have  borne  it  all,"  and  she  burst  into 
tears,  longing  for  a  loving  word  to  support  her 
amid  the  flow  of  her  own  self-reproaches,  and 
comfort  her  in  all  time  to  come.  The  boy 
trembled,  but  had  no  answer. 

"  You  must  never  leave  me !  "  she  sobbed  out. 
Then  there  came  before  his  eyes  all  that  she  had 
been  in  the  sorrowful  past,  and  how  unutterably 
lonely  she  would  feel  if,  in  return  for  all  her 
loving  kindness  to  him,  he  were  to  forsake  her 
now. 

"  Never,  never ! "  he  said,  in  a  low,  fervent 
voice  ;  he  wanted  to  go  over  to  where  she  sat, 
but  felt  as  if  he  could  not  move.  There  sat 
both  of  them,  weeping  bitterly.  She  prayed 
aloud,  now  for  the  dead,  and  again  for  herself 
and  her  boy :  then  came  the  tears  again,  to  be 
interrupted  presently  by  supplications  to  Heaven, 
which  again  gave  place  to  lamentation.  At  last 
she  said : 

"  Arne,  you   have  a  good  voice  ;   sit  back  a 
little  way  and  sing  a  hymn  for  your  father." 
49  o 


ARNE 

Straightway  he  seemed  to  find  strength  to  do 
it.  He  got  up,  fetched  a  hymn-book,  and 
kindled  a  fir-splinter ;  then,  with  the  torch  in 
one  hand  and  the  book  in  the  other,  he  stood 
by  the  head  of  the  bed,  and  sang  in  a  clear 
voice  Kingo's  127th  hymn: 

"  Turn  from  us  in  grace  Thine  anger  sore, 
Call  us  not  Thy  judgment  seat  before. 
Grant  to  us  Thy  servants,  sinful-living, 
Thy  forgiving ! " 


CHAPTER  V 

UPLAND    KNUT 

Arne  grew  up  reserved  and  shy ;  he  went  on 
tending  the  cattle  and  making  songs.  Though 
he  was  in  his  twentieth  year,  he  still  went  with 
the  herds  to  summer  pasture.  He  got  the 
pastor  to  lend  him  books  to  read,  and  that  was 
the  only  thing  he  cared  for. 

The  pastor  urged  him  to  become  a  school- 
teacher, saying  that  his  faculties  and  learning 
ought  to  be  turned  to  the  advantage  of  the  com- 
munity. Arne  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  on 
the  following  day,  as  he  was  driving  his  sheep 
to  pasture,  he  made  this  song : 

"  Little  skipping  lamb  of  mine, 
Follow  close  the  herd  bell's  chime ; 
Thoagh  the  road  be  steep  and  high, 
Listen  to  my  guiding  cry. 

5t 


ARNE 

*'  Little  skipping  lamb  of  mine 
Keep  for  me  that  fleece  of  thine; 
For  my  mother  'twill  provide 
Garments  warm  in  winter-tide. 

"  Little  skipping  lamb  of  mine. 
Keep  your  flesh  all  soft  and  fine ; 
You  are  chosen  from  the  troop. 
As  the  lamb  to  make  our  soup." 

When  in  his  twentieth  year,  he  one  day  chanced 
to  overhear  a  conversation  between  his  mother 
and  the  wife  of  the  former  owner  of  the  farm. 
They  disagreed  about  the  horse  that  they  owned 
in  common. 

"  I'll  just  wait  and  hear  what  Arne  says,"  said 
his  mother. 

"  That  sluggard  ! "  answered  the  other,  "  he'd 
iust  as  lief  as  not  have  the  horse  wandering 
about  all  day  in  the  woods,  as  he  does  himself, 
1  dare  say  !  " 

Then  the  mother  was  silent,  though  she  had 
spoken  up  well  enough  before. 

Arne  turned  as  red  as  fire.  Never  had  it 
occurred  to  him  before  that  his  mother  might  be 
put  to  shame  on  his  account.  "  Though,  perhaps," 
thought  he  now,  "  it  may  often  have  happened. 
But  why  had  she  never  told  him,  then  ?  " 
52 


UPLAND    KNUT 

He  kept  thinking  about  it  till  it  impressed  on 
his  mind  that  his  mother  scarcely  ever  spoke  to 
him ;  but  then  he  never  spoke  to  her  either. 
Indeed,  whom  did  he  ever  speak  to  ? 

Many  a  Sunday,  when  he  sat  silent  at  home, 
he  would  have  liked  to  have  read  aloud  a  sermon 
to  his  mother — her  own  eyes  were  not  good 
enough,  for  she  had  done  too  much  weeping  in 
her  life;  but  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  do 
it.  Many  a  time,  too,  he  would  have  liked  to 
offer  to  read  aloud  from  his  own  books,  when  all 
at  home  was  silence,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
she  must  be  finding  it  rather  dull.  But  he  could 
not  bring  himself  to  do  it. 

"  Well,  well ! "  he  thought,  at  last,  "  I'll  give 
up  going  to  the  woods  with  the  cattle,  and  spend 
my  time  down  here  with  mother." 

Firm  in  this  resolve,  he  went  to  the  woods,  as 
usual,  for  a  few  days,  drove  the  herds  far  and 
wide  for  pasture,  and  made  this  song  mean- 
while : 

"  The  parish  is  all  restless,  but  there's  peace  in  grove  and 

wood. 

No  beadle  here  impounds  you,  to  suit  his  crabbed  mood ; 

No  strife  profanes  0ur  little  church,  tho*  there  it  rages  high 

But  then  we  h«ve  no  little  church,  and  that  perhaps  is  why  1 

53 


ARNE 

"  How  happy  is  the  woodland  grove,  despite  the  eager  way 
The  hawk  will  chase  the  sparrow  that  he  chooses  for  his 

prey; 
And  tho'   on  some  ill>fated  thing  the  eagle  swoops  to 

ground, 
The  little  beast  without  it  would  a  speedy  grave  have  found 

"  One  tree  is  conquered  by  the  axe,  while  skyward  rises  one 
The  fox  has  torn  the  lambkin  ere  the  setting  of  the  sun. 
The  wolf  has  killed  the  little  fox,  now  both  are  lying  dead, 
For  Arne  shot  the  hungry  wolf  before  the  night  had  fled. 

"  In  valley  and  in  woodland  there  are  many  things  to  see. 
But  of  one  thing  be  you  certain,  that  your  sight  unclouded 

be. 
I  dreamed  I  saw  a  stripling — by  his  hand  his  father  fell ; 
It  seemed  to  me,  I  know  not  how,  this  thing  was  done  in 

hell." 

He  came  home  and  told  his  mother  that  she 
must  send  to  the  village  and  get  a  herd-boy  ;  he 
meant  to  look  after  the  farm  himself  henceforth, 
he  said.  So  it  was  settled  ;  and  now  the  mother 
was  ever  about  hini,  with  tender  admonitions  not 
to  do  too  much.  She  got  into  the  habit,  too,  at 
this  time,  of  giving  him  such  dainty  meals,  that 
he  often  felt  ashamed  to  eat  them  ;  but  he  said 
nothing. 

There  was  a  song  in  his  heart  whose  burden 
was  :  "  Over  the  mountains  high  !  "  Somehow 
or  other,  he  could  not  finish  it^  chiefly  because 

54 


UPLAND    KNUT 

he  wanted  the  refrain  to  come  in  every  other 
line ;  afterwards,  he  gave  up  that  idea. 

But  many  of  the  songs  he  made  got  spread 
about  among  the  people,  who  liked  them  well. 
There  were  some  who  would  have  been  glad  to 
talk  with  him,  especially  such  as  had  known  about 
him  from  his  childhood.  But  Arne  was  shy  of 
all  whom  he  did  not  know,  and  disliked  them  ; 
chiefly  because  he  believed  they  disliked  him. 

At  his  side  in  all  his  field-work  was  a  labourer, 
known  as  Upland  Knut,  a  middle-aged  man,  who 
was  in  the  habit  of  singing  at  times ;  but  it  was 
always  the  same  song  that  he  sang.  When  this 
had  gone  on  for  some  months,  Arne  thought  he 
might  ask  him  if  he  knew  no  other  songs. 

"  No,"  answered  the  man. 

Some  days  went  by,  and  then,  when  the  peasant 
was  once  more  singing  his  song,  Arne  asked  : 

"  How  did  you  come  to  learn  just  that  one 
song  ?  " 

"  Ah  I  "  replied  the  other,  "  it  happened  so." 

Arne  went   from  him  straight   home.     There 

sat  the  mother,  weeping — a   thing  he  had   not 

seen  her  do  since  his  father's  death.     He  made 

as  if  he  had  not  noticed  it,  and  turned  to  the 

55 


ARNE 

door  again ;  but  he  felt  that  the  mother  was 
iooking  at  him  mournfully,  and  had  perforce  to 
check  his  steps. 

"  Why  are  you  crying,  mother  ?  "  he  said. 

For  a  moment  or  two,  his  words  were  the 
only  sound  in  the  room ;  they  seemed  to  keep 
repeating  themselves  to  him,  and  he  felt  that 
they  had  not  been  spoken  gently  enough. 

"  Why  are  you  crying,  mother  ?  "  he  asked 
once  more. 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  mother,  weeping  still  more, 
"  1  don't  really  know." 

He  stood  silent  for  a  while,  and  then  he  said, 
as  boldly  as  he  could  : 

"  There  must  be  something  you're  weeping 
for." 

There  was  silence  again,  and  Arne  began  to 
feel  very  guilty,  although  she  had  not  reproached 
him,  and  he  knew  of  nothing  he  had  done  to 
pain  her. 

"  I  just  felt  fit  to  cry,"  said  the  mother,  at 
length  ;  and  then,  after  a  pause,  she  added,  "I'm 
really  so  happy  at  heart,"  and  then  she  burst  out 
weeping  again. 

But  Arne  hastened  out,  and  his  heart  bore  him 
56 


UPLAND    KNUT 

on  to  the  ravine.  He  sat  beside  it,  and  looked 
down  into  it ;  suddenly,  as  he  was  sitting  so,  he 
began  to  weep. 

"  If  only  I  knew  what  these  tears  of  mine  are 
for ! "  said  Arne. 

Up  above  on  the  new-ploughed  field  sat  Up- 
land Knut,  singing  his  song. 

"  Ingerid  Sletten,  of  Sillegjord-mere, 
Had  neither  of  silver  nor  golden  store ; 
But  hers  was  one  treasure  she  valued  far  more, 
For  a  gift  'twas  of  old  from  her  mother  so  dear. 

"  Sure  'twas  one  of  the  plainest  and  simplest  of  things, 
Just  a  hood  for  her  head  made  of  soft  wool,  dyed  bright ; 
But  the  thoughts  of  her  mother  that  rose  at  its  sight, 
Made  it  fairer  to  her  than  the  treasure  of  kings. 

"  So  she  took  it  with  careful  and  reverent  hand. 
And  for  full  twenty  years  did  the  hood  lay  aside : 
'  I  will  wear  thee,'  she  said,  '  if  some  day  as  a  bride. 
Little  hood,  at  the  altar  all  joyous  I  stand.' 

•*  For  thirty  long  years  did  it  still  lie  aside. 
She  fearing  to  spoil  it  or  wear  it  away ; 
'  O  my  own  little  hood,'  she  would  often-times  say, 
'  In  God's  presence  1 11  wear  thee  one  day  as  a  bride/ 

••  For  forty  long  years  it  lay  hidden  away. 
And  Ingerid  thought  of  her  mother  so  dear ; 
•  Thee,  my  poor  little  hood,'  cried  she,  •  never,  I  fear, 
Shall  I  wear,  if  I  wait  for  the  glad  bridal  day.' 

57 


ARNE 

"And  her  heart  it  was  heavy  with  tears  and  with  teen. 
As  she  went  to  the  box,  forth  her  treasure  to  draw. 
She  looked  at  its  place — that  was  all  that  she  saw. 
For  there  was  not  a  thread  of  the  hood  to  be  seen." 

Arne  sat  listening,  as  if  music  had  fallen  on 
his  ear  from  the  mountains  far  away.  He  went 
up  to  Knut. 

"  Have  you  a  mother  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No." 

"  Have  you  a  father  ?  " 

"  Ah  no !     No  father." 

"  Is  it  long  since  they  died  ?  " 

"  Ah  yes  !     'Twas  long  ago. 

"I  suppose  you've  not  got  very  many 
friends  ?  " 

"  Ah  no !  not  many." 

"  Have  you  any  here  ?  " 

"  Ah  no !  not  here." 

"But  you  have  some  in  your  own  village,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"  Ah  no  !  not  there  either." 

"  Have  you  no  one  at  all,  then,  who  cares  for 
you?" 

"Ah  no  I     I  have  no  one." 

When  Arne  left  him,  he  felt  as  if  his  heart 
was  so  full  of  love  to  his  mother  that  it  must 
58 


UPLAND    KNUT 

surely  burst,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  there 
was  a  halo  of  h'ght  about  him. 

"Thou  God  in  Heaven,"  he  thought,  "Thou 
hast  given  me  her,  and  with  her  such  unspeak- 
able love — and  yet  I  put  her  aside ;  perhaps 
when  I  want  to  draw  her  to  me  again,  she  will 
be  no  more  ! "  He  felt  he  must  go  to  her,  if  for 
nothing  else,  then  just  to  see  her.  But  on  the 
way  a  sudden  thought  struck  him,  "What  if, 
because  you  do  not  sufficiently  prize  her,  you 
were  to  be  punished  by  soon  losing  her  ?  "  He 
stood  stock-still.  "  Almighty  God !  "  he  cried, 
"  what  would  become  of  me  then  ?  " 

At  that  moment,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  some 
terrible  misfortune  was  taking  place  at  home  ;  he 
rushed  toward  the  house,  cold  sweat  breaking 
out  on  his  brow,  his  feet  scarcely  touching  the 
ground  as  he  ran.  He  tore  open  the  house 
door ;  once  inside,  it  seemed  as  if  the  air  was 
filled  with  peace.  Gently  he  opened  the  door  of 
the  room.  The  mother  was  already  in  bed,  and 
the  moonbeans  were  shining  upon  her  face. 
She  lay  there,  sleeping  like  a  child. 


S9 


CHAPTER  VI 

arne's  story 

Some  days  later,  mother  and  son,  who  had  lately 
been  more  together,  agreed  to  go  to  the  wedding 
of  some  relatives  at  a  neighbouring  farm.  The 
mother  had  not  been  to  a  party  since  she  was  a 
girl. 

They  scarcely  knew  the  people  there  except 
by  name,  and  to  Arne  especially  it  seemed 
strange  how  all  looked  at  him  wherever  he 
was. 

Something  was  said  about  him  as  he  walked 
through  the  passage  once ;  he  was  not  quite 
certain  what  it  was,  but  every  drop  of  blood  in 
his  veins  began  to  boil  when  he  thought  of  it. 

He  kept  following  about  and  looking  at  the 
man  who  had  said  it ;   at  last  he  took  his  seat 
beside  him.     But  when  they  were  at  table,  the 
man's  conversation  took  quite  a  different  turn. 
60 


"Now  I'll  tell  you  a  story,"  said  he,  "which 
shows  that  nothing  can  be  hidden  so  deep  down 
in  the  darkness  but  it  comes  to  light  some  day." 
It  seemed  to  Arne  that  the  man  was  looking  at 
him.  He  was  an  ugly-looking  fellow,  with  thin 
red  hair  that  overhung  a  wide,  round  forehead, 
below  which  were  a  pair  of  very  small  eyes,  a 
little  snub  nose,  and  a  very  large  mouth  with 
pale,  projecting  lips.  When  he  laughed  he 
showed  all  his  gums.  His  hands,  which  were 
on  the  table,  were  very  large  and  coarse,  though 
the  wrists  were  slender  enough.  He  looked 
keenly  about,  and  spoke  quickly,  though  with 
effort.  He  was  nicknamed  "  Ugly  Jaws,"  and 
Arne  knew  that  Nils  Skraedder  had  given  him  a 
rough  time  of  it  in  the  old  days. 

"  Yes,"  went  on  the  man,  "  there's  much  sin 
in  this  world  ;  it  is  often  nearer  to  us  than  we 

think Well,  well!  listen  now  to  the  story 

of  an  ugly  deed.  Those  here  who  are  old 
enough  will  remember  Alf  the  Packman.  *  Soon 
come  again  ! '  was  Alfs  saying,  and  people  have 
got  into  the  habit  of  saying  it  from  him ;  for 
whenever  he'd  driven  a  good  bargain — and  what 
a  hand  he  was  at  a  bargain  to  be  sure  ! — he  threw 
6i 


ARNE 

his  pack  on  his  back,  and  off  he  was,  with  a 
'  Soon  come  again  1 '  O,  a  devil  of  a  fellow 
was  Alf! — a  fine,  jolly  old  boy  was  the  pack- 
man. 

"Well  now,  about  him  and  Big  Lazy.  Big 
Lazy — why,  you  knew  him,  of  course  ?  Big  he 
was,  and  lazy  too — that's  certain.  Well,  he  fell 
in  love  with  a  jet-black  pony  of  Alfs,  which 
hopped  like  a  grasshopper  when  the  packman 
drove  it;  and  before  Big  Lazy  himself  right 
well  knew  it,  Alf  had  got  him  to  give  him  fifty 
thalers  for  the  nag !  Into  a  carriole  jumped  Big 
Lazy,  big  as  he  was,  to  drive  like  the  king  with 
his  fifty-thaler  horse ;  but  though  he  might 
curse  it  and  lash  it  till  the  dust  fiew  about  in 
clouds,  the  horse  ran  full  tilt  against  every  door 
or  wall  that  stood  in  its  way;  for  it  was  stone* 
blind  ! 

"  Well  now,  whenever  these  two  met  they  fell 
a-fighting  about  the  horse,  quarrelling  all  over 
the  parish  like  two  dogs.  Big  Lazy  demanded 
his  money  back  again,  but  never  got  a  stiver  of 
it :  the  packman  beat  him  each  time  till  he  could 
drub  him  no  longer.  '  Soon  come  again  ! '  said 
Alf,  as  he  left  him.    O,  a  devil  of  a  fellow  was 

62 


arne's  story 

Alf,  I  can  tell  you ! — a  fine,  jolly  old  boy  of  a 
packman ! 

"  Well  now,  years  went  by,  and  Alf  never 
came  again.  Some  ten  years  after  this,  how- 
ever, a  notice  was  given  out  from  the  church  for 
him  to  come  back,  for  a  big  fortune  had  been 
left  him.  Big  Lazy  stood  by.  *  Ah  ! '  he  said, 
'  I  knew  well  enough  that  it  was  not  men  but 
money  that  wanted  Packman  Alf  back  ! ' 

"Then  folks  all  began  to  talk  about  Alf  in 
one  place  and  another,  and  from  all  the  gossip 
this  much  was  certain,  that  he  was  last  seen,  not 
on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain  ridge,  but  on 
this  side.  You  remember  the  road  over  the 
ridge — the  old  road — don't  you  ? 

"  Now  Big  Lazy  had,  during  the  last  few 
years,  got  very  rich  and  prosperous,  in  his  farm 
and  in  other  property.  He  had  also  grown  very 
religious,  and  every  one  knew  that  he  didn't 
become  religious  all  of  a  sudden  for  nothing,  not 
he — any  more  than  any  one  else.  These  things 
set  folks  a-thinking. 

"  It  was  about  this  time  that  the  way  over 
the  ridge  was  re-made.  Our  grandfathers  liked 
to  be  able  to  go  straight  to  a  place,  and  so  the 
63 


ARNE 

road  ran  right  over  the  ridge;  but  we  want  to 
have  it  all  smooth  and  easy,  so  now  the  road 
goes  down  along  by  the  river.  Well,  there  was 
such  a  hubbub  with  all  the  blasting  and  mining, 
that  you  might  have  thought  the  whole  moun- 
tain-side was  coming  down.  All  sorts  of  people 
connected  with  the  work  gathered  there,  but 
most  frequently  of  all  came  the  mayor,  for  he 
travelled  to  and  fro  without  payment.  Well, 
one  day,  as  the  workmen  were  digging  away 
the  rocky  earth,  a  man  grasped  what  he  thought 
was  a  stone,  but  it  was  a  hand,  sticking  out 
amid  the  stones,  and  so  strong  was  the  hand 
that  the  man  who  touched  it  fell  back  at  the 
touch — and  that  man  was  Big  Lazy. 

"  The  mayor  was  not  far  off ;  he  was  fetched 
at  once,  and  all  the  bones  of  a  man  were  dug 
out.  The  doctor  too  was  fetched,  and  he  put  all 
the  bones  together  so  cunningly  that  all  it  now 
lacked  was  flesh.  And  now  folks  began  to  de- 
clare that  the  skeleton  was  just  the  size  of  Alt 
the  Packman.  *  Soon  come  again  I '  said  Alf  the 
Packman. 

"  Wei)  now,  one  and  another  began  to  think  it 
queer  that  a  dead  hand  could  knock  down  a 
64 


ARNE  S    STORY 

fellow  like  Big  Lazy,  especially  without  striking 
him.  The  mayor  straightway  took  him  where 
they  could  not  be  overheard,  and  taxed  him  with 
the  murder  outright.  But  then  Big  Lazy  swore 
he  was  innocent  with  such  oaths  that  the  mayor 
turned  faint. 

**  *  Well,  well !  if  it  wasn't  you,  you're  man 
enough  to  pass  the  night  with  the  skeleton,  aren't 
you?' 

"  '  Yes,  of  course  I  am  !.'  answered  Big  Lazy, 

"  So  the  doctor  bound  the  bones  at  the  joints, 
and  laid  the  skeleton  on  one  of  the  beds  in  the 
barrack-room.  Big  Lazy  was  to  lie  in  the  other 
bed,  while  the  mayor,  wrapped  round  in  his 
cloak,  kept  close  to  the  wall  on  the  other  side. 
When  it  was  dark,  and  time  for  Big  Lazy  to 
join  his  bed-fellow,  the  door  seemed  to  close 
behind  him  of  its  own  accord,  and  shut  him  off 
from  the  light.  But  Big  Lazy  began  to  sing 
hymns,  for  he  had  a  very  strong  voice. 

"  *  Why  are  you  singing  hymns  ?  *  asked  the 
mayor  from  without. 

"  '  Because  I  don't  know  whether  bells  were 
ever  tolled  and  hymns  sung  for  him/  answered 
Big  Lazy. 

65  « 


ARNE 

♦*  Presently  he  began  to  pray  as  hard  as  he 
could. 

"  *  Why  are  you  praying  ? '  asked  the  mayor 
from  without. 

"  '  Because  he  was  a  fearful  sinner,'  answered 
Big  Lazy. 

"  Then  for  a  long  time  all  was  so  still  that 
the  mayor  had  very  nearly  fallen  asleep.  Sud- 
denly there  was  an  awful  scream,  that  shook  the 
whole  building. 

"  •  Soon  come  again  !  *  it  rang  out.  There 
was  the  noise  of  fiendish  confusion  within. 

"  '  Let's  iiave  those  fifty  dollars  of  mine  I ' 
roared  Big  Lazy,  and  then  came  a  scream  and  a 
crash.  The  mayor  burst  open  the  door ;  in 
rushed  the  people  with  sticks  and  torches,  and 
there  lay  Big  Lazy  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
and  on  top  of  him  the  skeleton  I " 

There  was  unbroken  silence  all  round  the 
table.  At  length  one  said,  lighting  his  clay  pipe 
the  while : 

"  He  went  mad  from  that  day,  didn't  he  ?  '* 

'•  He  did." 

Arne  felt  as  if  all  eyes  were  on  him,  and  he 
could  not  muster  courage  to  look  up. 


ARNE'r,   STORY 

"  I  say,  as  I  said  before,"  resumed  the  man 
who  had  told  the  story,  "  there's  nothing  can  be 
hidden  so  deep  down  in  the  darkness  but  it 
comes  to  Ught  some  day." 

"  Well,  now,"  said  a  fair-haired,  thick-set, 
round-faced  man,  "  I'll  tell  you  about  a  son  who 
struck  his  own  father." 

Arne  felt  as  if  he  scarce  knew  where  he  was 
sitting. 

"  There  was  once  a  quarrelsome,  bullying 
fellow,"  the  man  went  on,  "  belonging  to  a  good 
family  down  there  in  Hardanger,  and  he  had  got 
the  better  of  many  a  man.  Now,  he  and  his  father 
had  a  quarrel  about  money  matters,  and  this  made 
him  as  cantankerous  at  home  as  he  was  abroad. 

"  Well,  his  goings-on  grew  worse  and  worse, 
and  his  father  kept  getting  more  and  more  angry 
with  him.  *  No  one  shall  be  my  master  ! '  said 
the  son.  'That  shall  I,'  said  the  father,  'as 
long  as  I  live.' 

"  *  If  you  don't  be  quiet,  I'll  strike  you ! '  said 
the  son,  and  he  raised  his  arm. 

" '  Just  you   dare,    and   you'll    never  have   a 
moment's     happiness    in   this   world,*  said   the 
father,  raising  himself  too. 
67 


ARNE 

"  '  Think  so  ?  '  said  the  son,  and  he  fell  upon 
the  other  and  threw  him  to  the  ground.  But 
the  father  made  no  resistance:  he  only  folded 
his  arms  and  let  him  do  as  he  would. 

"  The  son  beat  him,  laid  hold  of  him,  and 
pulled  him  to  the  door. 

"  *  I  will  have  peace  at  home  ! '  he  cried. 

"But  when  they  got  to  the  door,  the  father 
half  raised  himself. 

"  *  No  further  than  the  door ! '  he  cried  ; 
*  just  so  far  as  that  did  I  drag  my  own  father  ! ' 

"  The  son  paid  no  heed ;  he  dragged  his 
father's  head  over  the  threshold. 

"  *  No  further  than  the  door,  I  tell  you ! ' 
cried  the  old  man.  He  got  up,  threw  his  son 
to  the  ground  at  his  feet,  and  beat  him  like  a 
child." 

"  What  an  awful  story ! "  cried  several  voices. 

"  How  shocking  to  strike  one's  father ! "  Arne 
seemed  to  hear  some  one  saying ;  but  he  was 
not  certain. 

"  Now  /'//  tell  you  something,"  said  Arne ; 
and  he  got  up,  pale  as  a  corpse,  and  not  know- 
ing what  he  was  to  say.  All  he  saw  was  words 
whirling  about  him  like  great  snowflakes.  "  Let 
6S 


me  catch  them  as  they  fly,"  he  thought,  and  he 
began  : 

"A  troll  once  met  a  boy  walking  along  the 
road  and  crying.  'Whom  are  you  most  afraid 
of  ? '  asked  the  troll,  '  yourself,  or  somebody 
else  ? ' 

"  Now,  the  boy  was  crying,  as  it  happened, 
because  the  night  before  he  had  dreamed  that 
he  had  been  obliged  to  kill  his  wicked  father, 
so  he  answered  : 

"  '  Myself.' 

"  *  Be  at  peace  with  yourself,  then,  and  never 
weep  again ;  for  henceforth  you  shall  be  at 
variance  only  with  others.'  And  so  saying  the 
troll  went  his  way. 

"  Now  the  first  person  whom  the  boy  met 
laughed  scornfully  at  him,  and  the  boy  could 
not  but  sneer  at  him  in  return.  The  next 
whom  he  met  dealt  him  a  blow,  and  the  boy,  to 
defend  himself,  struck  back.  The  third  whom 
he  met  tried  to  kill  him,  so  the  boy  had  to  kill 
htm. 

"  And  now  every  one  began  to  speak  ill  of 
the  boy,  so  that  he  had  nothing  but  ill  to  speak 
of  every  one.  They  locked  all  their  cupboards 
69 


ARNE 

and  bolted  their  doors,  so  that  whatever  he 
needed  he  must  perforce  steal :  even  his  night's 
lodging  he  was  forced  to  get  by  stealth.  And 
now  that  he  was  unable  to  find  anything  good 
to  do,  he  must  needs  find  something  evil.  Then 
all  the  parish  began  to  be  saying :  '  Really  we 
must  get  rid  of  this  boy,  he  is  so  wicked.'  So 
one  fine  day  they  took  him  and  put  him  out  of 
pain.  Now  the  boy  himself  had  no  idea  that  he 
had  done  anything  wrong,  and  so  after  death  he 
went  straight  to  our  Lord's  presence.  There  on 
one  bench  sat  his  father  (whom,  as  you  know, 
he  had  not  killed),  and  on  another,  just  opposite 
him,  all  those  who  had  been  the  cause  of  his 
doing  evil. 

"  '  Which  bench  are  you  afraid  of  ? '  said 
God.     The  boy  pointed  to  the  long  row  of  faces. 

"  '  Sit  down  by  your  father,  then,'  said  our 
Lord ;  and  the  boy  went  to  do  so — but  just 
then  down  tumbled  the  father  from  the  bench, 
with  a  great  wound  in  his  neck.  In  place  of 
him  sat  the  figure  of  the  boy  himself,  but  with 
horror-stricken  face  and  features  pale  as  death. 
Then  came  another  figure  of  himself,  this  time 
with  a  drunkard's  face,  and  bloated,  drink- 
701 


ARNE*S    STORY 

swollen  body ;  and  after  him  one  with  vacant 
eyes,  torn  garments,  and  horrid  laughter. 

"  '  Even  as  one  of  these  might  you  have  been/ 
said  our  Lord. 

"  *  Even  as  these  ! '  repeated  the  boy,  and  he 
put  out  his  hand  to  touch  God's  garment.  At 
that,  down  fell  both  benches  from  the  heavens, 
and  the  boy  stood  there  before  his  God's  face 
and  laughed. 

"  '  Think  on  that  when  you  awake  !  *  said  our 
Maker — and  at  that  moment  the  boy  awoke. 

"  Now  the  boy  who  dreamed  all  this  was  I, 
and  those  who  tempt  him  by  thinking  ill  of  him 
are — you  I  Myself  I  no  longer  fear ;  but  of 
you  I  am  indeed  afraid.  Call  not  out  the  evil 
in  me ;  for  I  know  not  whether  it  will  be 
granted  me  to  touch  the  garment  of  our  Lord." 

He  dashed  out  of  the  room,  and  all  the  people 
looked  at  one  another. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SELF-REPROACH 

It  was  the  day  after,  in  the  bam  of  that  same 
farm.  Arne  had  drunk  too  much,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life.  It  had  upset  him,  and  he  had 
lain  in  the  barn  there  for  the  best  part  of  the 
four-and-twenty  hours.  He  was  sitting  up  now, 
leaning  on  his  elbows  and  talking  to  himself. 

"  Everything,  I  see,  can  be  brought  home  to 
my  cowardice.  I  didn't  run  away  when  I  was  a 
boy — that  was  cowardice  ;  I  heeded  father  more 
than  mother — that  was  cowardice  ;  I  sang  horrid 
songs  to  him — that  was  cowardice ;  I  took  up 
with  going  with  the  cattle  to  pasture,  just  out 
of  cowardice  ;  with  reading — yes,  that  was 
cowardice,  too — I  only  wanted  to  hide  from 
myself.  Even  when  I  was  no  longer  a  boy, 
I  didn't  take  mother's  part  against  father — 
coward  that  I  was !  and  even  that  night — 
72 


SELF-REPROACH 

coward  I  coward  ! — I  did  not— coward !  I 
should  very  likely  have  done  nothing  till  he 
had  killed  her !  Afterwards  I  could  no  longer 
endure  home — coward !  yet  I  didn't  go  away 
either — coward !  I  just  did  nothing ;  I  went 
and  watched  the  cattle — coward !  It's  true  I 
had  promised  mother  to  stay  with  her ;  but 
I'm  sure  I  should  have  been  coward  enough  to 
break  my  word  at  any  time,  if  I  hadn't  been 
afraid  of  mixing  with  people ;  for  the  truth  is 
I  am  afraid  of  people,  chiefly  because  I  think 
they  see  what  a  wretched  creature  I  am.  But 
just  because  I  am  afraid  of  them  I  go  and  talk 
evil  of  them — confounded  coward  that  I  am. 
It's  only  out  of  cowardice  that  I  make  songs. 
I  dare  not  think  of  my  own  affairs,  so  I  go  and 
dip  in  other  folks' — and  that's  making  poetry ! 

"  I've  had  reason  enough  for  weeping  till  the 
hills  turned  to  lakes,  yet  I  say  to  myself,  '  Hush, 
hush,'  and  rock  myself  to  sleep.  Why,  even 
my  songs  are  cowardly  :  if  they  were  bolder, 
they'd  be  far  better.  I'm  afraid  of  all  bold 
thought :  I  fear  everything  that's  strong ;  if  I 
force  myself  to  it,  it's  only  when  I'm  in  a 
passion — and  passion  is  mere  weak  cowardice. 
73 


ARNE 

I'm  cleverer,  abler,  wiser  than  I  seem — I'm 
better  than  I  appear  from  my  talk — but  yet, 
such  is  my  cowardice,  I  dare  not  seem  to  be 
just  what  I  am.  Why,  look  here !  that  brandy 
yesterday  I  only  drank  from  cowardice ;  I 
wanted  to  drown  my  thoughts  !  Ah,  I  was 
doing  wrong,  I  knew ;  but  I  went  on  drinking 
and  drinking — I  drank  my  father's  life-blood 
and  my  own  wits  away  !  Why,  my  cowardice 
is  altogether  without  limits  ;  and  most  cowardly 
of  all  is  it  that  I  can  loll  here  and  tell  myself  all 
this. 

"  Kill  myself  ?  stuff  and  nonsense !  I'm  much 
too  much  of  a  coward  for  that  I  Besides,  I 
believe  in  God — yes,  I  do  believe  in  God — and 
I'd  go  to  Him  gladly  enough  too,  but  my 
cowardice  keeps  me  from  Him.  Everything 
would  be  changed  and  different  then,  and  that's 
just  what  a  coward  like  me  shudders  away  from. 
But  suppose  I  tried — tried  with  all  my  might  ? 
Almighty  God  I  suppose  I  were  to  try.  I  say, 
would'st  Thou  amend  me  in  such  way  as  my 
frail  strength  could  endure  ?  for  there  is  neither 
bone  nor  sinew  in  me  ;  all  is  as  quavering  jelly. 
But    suppose    I    were    to  try — with   good  and 

74 


SELF-REPROACH 

gentle  books  (I  fear  all  strong  writings) ;  with 
beautiful  tales  and  legends,  and  all  that  is  com- 
forting; with  a  sermon  every  Sunday  and  a 
prayer  every  evening ;  and  with  regular,  steady 
work,  so  that  religion  may  find  fitting  soil — for 
that  it  cannot  in  idleness.  If  I  were  to  try — 
dear  gentle  God  of  my  childhood !  let  me  try  to 
come  to  Thee  !  " 

Some  one  opened  the  door,  and  dashed  across 
to  him ;  it  was  his  mother,  her  face  pale  as 
death,  though  it  was  bathed  in  perspiration. 
This  was  the  second  day  of  her  search  for  her 
son.  She  had  been  crying  his  name  aloud,  and 
without  waiting  to  listen  for  his  answer,  going 
on  crying  aloud  and  running  about,  till  he  called 
out  to  her  from  amid  the  hay  on  which  he  lay. 
Then  she  uttered  one  shrill  scream,  sprang  upon 
the  heap  of  hay,  more  lightly  than  a  boy,  and 
folded  him  in  her  arms. 

"  Oh,  Arne  !  Arne  !  are  you  here  ?  "  she 
sobbed.  "  Have  I  really  found  you  at  last  ? 
I  have  been  looking  for  you  ever  since  yester. 
day  evening  :  I  have  been  searching  all  night. 
My  poor,  poor  Arne !  I  saw  they  had  been 
treating  you  shamefully.  I  did  so  want  to  talk 
75 


ARNE 

with  you  and  console  you  I — Arne !  I  saw  you 
were  drinking  too  much !  God  Almighty ! 
may  I  never  see  that  again  ! "  It  was  long 
before  she  could  go  on  again.  "Jesus  guard 
you,  my  son,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  saw  you  drink- 
ing !  and  then  all  of  a  sudden  you  had  got 
away  from  me,  all  dazed  with  drink  and  worry 
as  you  were,  and  I  ran  about  everywhere  to 
find  you :  I  went  into  every  house ;  I  ran  far 
out  into  the  fields ;  I  peered  into  every  ditch  ; 
I  asked  everybody  I  met ;  I  came  here,  too,  but 
you  did  not  answer  my  call.  O  Arne,  Arne  !  I 
went  along  by  the  river,   but   it  did  not  seem 

anywhere     deep    enough    to "       And    she 

pressed  him  closer  to  her. 

"That  made  me  feel  calmer,  and  I  thought 
you  must  surely  have  gone  home,  and  I  hurried 
back,  and  got  there  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  I 
opened  the  doors  and  looked  in  every  room,  and 
not  till  then  did  I  remember  that  I  had  the  key 
myself,  so  that  you  could  not  possibly  have  got 
in  there.  Arne!  last  night  I  searched  every 
inch  of  the  road  on  both  sides  ;  I  did  not  dare 
to  go  and  look  at  the  precipice!  How  I  came 
here  again  I  don't  know  ;  there  was  no  one  ^9 
76 


SELF-REPROACH 

help  me,  but  somehow  God  put  it  into  my  mind 
that  you  must  be  here." 

He  tried  to  soothe  her  as  best  he  could. 

"  Arne !  "  she  burst  out,  "  you'll  never  drink 
brandy  again,  will  you  ?  " 

"  No,  you  may  be  sure  of  that." 

"They  must  have  behaved  badly  to  you^ 
they  did  behave  badly  to  you,  didn't  they  ?  " 

"  Ah  no  !  it  was  I  who  was  a  coward"  replied 
he,  laying  stress  on  the  last  word. 

"  I  don't  understand  how  they  could  treat  you 
unkindly.  But  what  was  it  they  did  to  you? 
You  never  will  tell  me  anything."  And  she 
began  to  weep  again. 

"  But  you  never  tell  me  anything  either," 
returned  Arne,  in  a  gentle  voice. 

"  Still,  it's  your  fault  most,  Arne ;  I  have 
grown  so  used  to  say  nothing  from  your  father's 
days,  that  I  need  you  to  help  me  a  little  to 
speak !  Good  God !  there's  only  we  two ;  and 
we  have  suffered  so  much  together." 

"Let  us  see  if  we  cannot  make  things  go 
better  for  the  future,"  whispered  he.  "  Next 
Sunday  I'll  read  out  the  sermon  to  you." 

"  God  bless  you  for  that !  "  she  murmured. 
77 


ARNE 

Presently  she  began  again. 

"  Arne ! " 

"  Yes." 

"  There  is  something  I  ought  to  tell  you." 

"Tell  it  me,  mother," 

"  I  am  bearing  a  great  sin  for  your  sake :  I 
have  done  a  wicked  thing." 

"  You,  mother ! "  he  cried.  And  it  moved 
him  so  to  think  that  his  loving-hearted,  ever- 
patient  mother  should  reproach  herself  for 
having  sinned  against  him,  who  never  did  any- 
thing really  kind  for  her,  that  he  threw  his 
arms  round  her,  kissed  her,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  Yes,  I !  and  yet  I  couldn't  help  doing  it." 

"O  mother,  you've  never  done  anything 
wrong  against  me,  I  know." 

"  Yes,  I  have ;  God  knows  it  was  only 
because  I  loved  you  so.  But  you  will  forgive 
me  for  it,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  forgive  you,  never  fear." 

"  And  some  other  time  I'll  tell  it  you — but 
you'll  forgive  me  for  it,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  mother." 

"You  see,  that's  really  why  it's  been  so  hard 
78 


SELF-REPROACH 

for  me  to  talk  with  you — I  have  had  this  sin 
against  you  on  my  mind." 

"  Good  God  !  don't  talk  so,  mother." 

"  At  any  rate,  I'm  glad  now  that  I've  been 
able  to  tell  you  that  much." 

"  Mother,  we  must  talk  together  more,  you 
and  I." 

"  That  we  will — and  you'll  really  read  the 
sermon  to  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

"That  I  will." 

"  God  bless  you,  my  poor,  poor  Arnc ! " 

"  I  think  now  we  had  better  go  home." 

"  Yes,  home." 

"  Why  do  you  look  about  you  like  that, 
mother  ?  " 

"  It  was  in  this  very  barn  your  father  lay 
and  wept." 

"  Father  ?  "  cried  Arne,  turning  pale. 

"  Poor  Nils  !  it  was  the  day  you  were  chris- 
tened," said  Margit.  "  Why  do  you  look  about 
you  like  that,  Arne  ?  " 


79 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ELI 

From  the  day  on  which  Arne  had  tried  with  all 
his  heart  to  join  his  Hfe  more  closely  to  his 
mother's,  his  attitude  towards  other  people  began 
quite  to  alter.  He  looked  at  them  now  more 
with  his  mother's  gentle  eyes.  But  he  often 
found  it  hard  to  remain  true  to  his  purpose  ; 
for  the  things  that  were  most  in  his  thoughts 
were  often  quite  beyond  his  mother's  under- 
standing. Here  is  a  song  he  made  about  this 
time: 

"  So  lovely  and  bright  was  the  fair  summer's  day, 
That  the  house  seemed  oppressive  to  grow ; 
So  out  to  the  beech-grove  I  wended  my  way, 
And  myself  on  my  back  did  I  throw. 
But  the  midge  'gan  to  sting,  and  the  ant  'gan  to  creep. 
And  the  gadfly  buzzed  out  at  me, '  Wake  from  thy  sleep !  " 

.   "  Won't  you  go  out  this  glorious  day,  dear  ?  " 
said  the  mother,  who  sat  singing  by  the  threshold. 
80 


ELI 

"  So  lovely  and  bright  was  the  fair  summer's  day, 
That  the  house  seemed  oppressive  to  grow ; 
So  I  sang  on  the  hill-side,  as  dreaming  I  lay, 
Of  fair  maidens  and  days  long  ago. 
But  some  serpents  approached  me,  a  good  three  ells  long. 
And  chased  me  away  from  my  meadow  and  song." 

"It's  such  beautiful  weather,  one  could  go 
barefoot,"  said  the  mother ;  and  she  drew  oft 
her  stockings. 

"  So  lovely  and  bright  was  the  fair  summer's  day, 
That  the  house  seemed  pppressive  to  grow ; 
I  longed  for  a  plunge  in  the  cool  of  the  bay, 
So  far  out  on  the  fjord  did  I  row. 
But  fiercely  the  sun  came,  my  skin  to  attack  : 
And  that  was  too  much,  so  I  rowed  the  boat  back." 

"  Now,  this  is  the  sort  of  day  for  the  hay  to 
get  dry  in,"  said  the  mother ;  and  she  pushed  a 
hay-rake  deep  into  it. 

"  So  lovely  and  bright  was  the  fair  summer's  day, 
That  the  house  seemed  oppressive  to  grow ; 
To  the  depth  of  the  greenwood,  where  venturesome  raj 
Ne'er  pierces,  I  hopefully  go. 
But  a  worm  from  a  tree  tumbled  down  on  my  face : 
•  Fiend  take  you,'  cried  I,  and  I  rushed  from  the  place. ' ' 

"Well,  if  the  cow  doesn't  find  plenty  to  eat 
to-day,"  said  the  mother,  "she  never  will."  And 
she  glanced  up  towards  the  pasture. 

8i  9 


ARNE 

"  So  lovely  and  bright  was  the  fair  summer's  day, 
That  the  house  seemed  oppressive  to  grow ; 
I  bathed  in  the  waterfall's  silvery  spray, 
'  Now  here  can  befall  me  no  woe  I ' 
Alas  1  I  was  drowned  in  the  golden  sunshine — 
But  if  this  is  so,  then  this  song  isn't  mine." 

"  Three  such  sunny  days,  and  all  the  hay  will 
be  got  safely  in,"  said  the  mother.  And  away 
she  went  to  make  his  bed. 

Nevertheless,  Arne's  intercourse  with  his 
mother  grew  every  day  more  and  more  of  a 
comfort  to  her.  The  things  she  was  unable 
to  understand  produced  a  relationship  to  her 
quite  as  well  as  the  things  she  did  understand ; 
for  just  because  she  did  not  grasp  them,  he 
thought  over  her  difficulties  more  and  more; 
and  she  herself  grew  dearer  to  him  for  his  find- 
ing her  boundaries  in  all  directions.  Yes,  she 
was  very,  very  dear  to  him  ! 

Arne  had  not  cared  much  for  stories  when  he 
was  a  boy,  but  now,  as  a  young  man,  he  was 
seized  with  a  passion  for  them,  and  then  for  the 
national  sagas  and  heroic  songs.  A  strange 
longing  possesed  his  soul.  He  went  about  alone 
much  of  his  time  now;  and  many  a  place  he 
had  never  looked  at  before  now  seemed  to  him 
82 


ELI 

marvellously  fair.  While  he  was  being  prepared 
for  confirmation,  he  had  often  gone  with  his  class 
fellows  and  played  beside  a  great  piece  of  water 
near  the  parsonage  called,  from  its  depth  and 
darkness,  the  Black  Lake.  This  water  now 
began  to  come  into  his  thoughts  again,  and  one 
evening  he  wandered  down  to  it. 

He  sat  down  behind  some  bushes  close  by 
the  parsonage,  which  lay  on  the  slope  of  a  very 
steep  hill  that  rose  high  behind  it.  The  opposite 
shore  was  of  the  same  shape,  so  that  all  sorts  of 
strange  shadowy  forms  were  playing  on  the  lake 
from  both  sides  ;  but  out  in  the  middle  was  a 
broad  shimmering  band  of  silver  water. 

All  was  peace.  The  sun  was  beginning  to 
set;  there  came  the  faint  chime  of  bells  from 
the  opposite  shore,  and  save  that  there  was  no 
sound.  Arne  did  not  look  straight  across  ;  at 
first  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  surface  of  the 
waters,  for  the  sun  just  before  sinking  was  shed- 
ding a  deep  red  glow  over  them.  There  was  a 
break  in  the  mountains,  making  a  long,  low  vale, 
in  which  the  waters  plashed ;  it  looked  as  if  the 
crags  grew  together  again  in  order  to  cncompa^ss 
the  intervening  dale. 

83 


ARNE 

Homestead  touched  homestead  in  the  valley 
beyond  ;  the  smoke  rose  up  from  them  and  curled 
away ;  the  fields  shone  with  verdant  moisture, 
and  boats  laden  with  hay  lay  by  the  shore.  He 
could  see  many  folks  moving  about,  but  he  heard 
no  sound.  His  eye  turned  from  them  to  the 
strand,  from  which  rose  naught  save  God's  dark 
woods,  through  which,  by  the  water's  edge,  the 
path  of  mankind  was  pointed  out  as  by  a  finger, 
for  all  the  way  a  winding  streak  of  dust  was 
plain  to  see.  With  his  eye  he  followed  it  till  he 
reached  the  point  just  opposite  to  where  he  sat ; 
there  the  wood  ceased,  the  mountains  broke,  and 
farm  upon  farm  filled  the  gap.  There  were  red- 
painted  houses,  larger  than  those  in  the  lower 
valley  and  with  bigger  windows,  which  just  now 
were  red  too  in  the  setting  sun.  The  hills  were 
all  alight  with  bright  rays  :  the  smallest  child  at 
play  there  could  be  seen,  distinct  and  plain; 
bright  by  the  water's  edge  the  sand  shone  white, 
children  and  dogs  gleefully  disporting  themselves 
thereon.  But  suddenly  all  grew  sun-forsaken 
and  gloomy,  the  houses  dusky-red,  the  herbage 
black  green,  the  sand  grey-white,  the  children 
little  shapeless  lumps.  A  mist  had  sprung  up 
ft4 


ELI 

over  the  mountain-side  and  shut  out  the  face  of 
the  sun.  But  Arne  looked  down  into  the  waters, 
and  found  all  the  scene  pictured  there  again. 
The  smiling  corn-fields  waved  before  him,  the 
woods  stept  silently  into  his  view.  There  stood 
the  dwelling-houses  gazing  calmly  down,  with 
doors  open,  and  children  passing  in  and  out. 
Mystic  fancies,  strange  memories  of  childhood 
circled  round  him  like  fish  around  the  bait ; 
away  they  darted,  back  they  ventured  again,  to 
and  fro  they  sported,  but  never  did  they  let 
themselves  be  caught. 

"  Let  us  sit  down  here  till  your  mother  comes 
back  ;  the  pastor's  lady  must  get  done  some  time 
or  other,  after  all." 

Arne  started  up  ;  somebody  had  plainly  seated 
himself  right  behind  him. 

**  Oh !  I  would  so  like  to  stay  just  this  one 
night  more,"  said  a  supplicating,  tearful  voice — 
a  voice  evidently  belonging  to  a  young  girl  not 
yet  quite  grown  up. 

"Now,  don't  cry  any  more,"  answered  the 
gentle  but  deliberate  voice  of  a  man ;  **  it's  not 
nice  of  you  to  keep  crying  because  you're  to  ^o 
home  to  your  mother." 

8S 


ARNE 

"  That's  not  why  I'm  crying." 

"Why  are  you  crying,  then." 

'*  Because  I  can't  be  with  Mathilde  any  more." 

(This  was  the  name  of  the  pastor's  only 
daughter.  Arne  called  to  mind  now  that  a 
young  country  girl  had  been  brought  up  along 
with  her.) 

"Well,  that  couldn't  go  on  for  ever,  you 
know." 

"  Yes,  but  only  just  one  day  more ! "  And  her 
sobs  burst  forth  again. 

"  It's  best  for  you  to  come  back  home  with  us 
now  ;  perhaps,  as  it  is,  it's  too  late." 

"  Too  late  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  Did  ever 
girl  hear  the  Hke  ?  " 

"  You  were  born  a  country  girl,  and  a  country 
girl  you  must  remain  ;  we're  not  the  sort  of  people 
to  have  a  fine  lady." 

•'  I  could  have  kept  on  being  a  country  girl 
however  much  I  stayed  there." 

"  You  can't  judge  of  that." 

"  I've  always  worn  country  girl's  clothes." 

"  That's  not  what  makes  a  country  girl." 

"  I've  spun,  too,  and  woven,  and  cooked." 

"  That's  not  it,  either." 

86 


ELI 

•'  I  can  talk  just  as  you  and  mothei  do." 

"  Nor  is  that  it,  either." 

"  Well,  then,  I  don't  rightly  know  what  it  is ! " 
said  the  girl,  and  she  laughed. 

"  We  shall  see,"  replied  the  other.  "  One 
thing  I'm  afraid  of  is  that  you've  got  too  many 
ideas  in  your  head  already." 

"  Ideas,  ideas !  that's  what  you're  always 
saying.  I  haven't  got  a  single  one,  I  tell  you." 
And  she  fell  a-weeping  again. 

"  Little  weathercock  that  you  are ! "  ejaculated 
the  man. 

"  Weathercock  indeed !  The  pastor  never 
called  me  that." 

"  Well,  then,  /  do." 

"  Weathercock,  weathercock  !  Did  ever  girl 
hear  the  like?  I  won't  be  called  weathercock, 
I  tell  you  I " 

"  Well,  what  will  you  be  called,  then  ?  " 

"What  will  I  be  called?  Oh  dear,  there's  a 
thing  to  say !     I'll  be  called  nothing." 

"  Very  well,  let's  call  you  '  Nothing,'  then." 

At  this  the  girl  began  to  laugh,  but  a  moment 
after  she  said,  quite  gravely : 

"  It's  horrid  of  you  to  call  me  *  Nothing.' "  . 
87 


ARNE 

"  Good  heavens !  didn't  you  ask  me  yourself  ?  " 
"  No.     I  will  not  be  '  Nothing.' " 
"Very  well,  dear  ;  be  *  Everything.'" 
Again   the  girl   began  to  laugh,  then  imme- 
diately, with  reproachful  voice,  she  said : 

"  The  pastor  never  used  to  fool  me  like  that." 
"  No,  he  was  content  with  making  you  a  fool." 
"  The  pastor  did !     Why,  you've   never  been 
so  kind  to  me  as  he  was  ! " 

"  It  would  have  been  too  bad  if  I  had." 
'*  Oh  yes !  sour  milk  can  ne'er  get  sweet." 
"  Yes,  it  can,  if  it's  cooked  to  whey." 
At  this  her  laughter  burst  forth. 
"  There  comes  your  mother,"  said  he. 
Straightway  she  was  all  seriousness  again. 
"  Such  a  chattering  creature  as  that  pastor's 
wife  I've  never  met  in  all  my  born  days,"  came 
from  a  sharp,  strident  voice.     "  Hurry  up  now, 
Baard ;  get  up  and  push  off  the  boat,  else  we 
sha'n't  be  home  to-night.     She  kept  telling  me  I 
was  to  take  care  Eli  always  kept  her  feet  dry — 
why,  she  can  take  care  of  that  herself,  I  suppose. 
She's  to  go  for  a  walk  every  morning,  she  says, 
because  of  her  delicate  health.     •  Delicate  health ' 
here  and  '  delicate  health '  there  it  was  with  her, 
88 


ELI 

I  can  tell  you.  But  get  up,  Baard,  do,  and  push 
off  the  boat — why,  I've  got  bread-baking  to  look 
after  this  evening  yet." 

"  The  box  hasn't  come  yet,"  answered  the 
man,  without  stirring. 

"The  box  isn't  going  to  come;  it's  to  stay 
there  till  next  Sunday.  And  you,  Eli !  don't 
you  hear  ?  Get  up,  I  say ;  pick  up  your  bundle 
and  come  along.     Come,  get  up,  Baard,  do ! " 

She  moved  away,  the  girl  following,  the 
woman's  "  get  up,  and  come,  do ! "  still  coming 
from  the  distance  below. 

"  Have  you  seen  to  the  plug  in  the  boat  ?  " 
asked  Baard,  without  moving. 

"  Yes,  it's  in  all  right ; "  and  Arne  heard  her 
immediately  knock  it  in  with  a  baler.  "But 
get  up,  do,  Baard!  we  are  not  to  stop  here  all 
night,  are  we  ?  " 

"  I'm  waiting  for  the  box." 

"  Bless  me !  haven't  I  told  you  it's  to  stay 
here  till  next  Sunday  ?  " 

'*  Here  it  comes,"  said  Baard.  And  thej 
heard  the  rattle  of  wheels. 

"Why,  I    told   them,"   said   the   woman,   "it 
was  to  stay  over  till  Sunday." 
89 


ARNE 

"  And  I  said  it  was  to  come  with  us." 

The  woman,  without  a  word,  went  straight 
up  to  the  cart,  took  out  of  it  a  bundle,  a  lunch- 
bag,  and  some  small  things,  and  bore  them  off 
to  the  boat.  Then  Baard  raised  himself,  went 
to  the  cart,  and  carried  the  box  down  unaided. 

But  following  the  cart  came  running  a  girl  in 
a  straw  hat,  her  hair  fluttering  about  her:  it 
was  the  pastor's  daughter. 

"  Eli !  Eli !  "  she  cried  from  the  distance. 

"  Mathilde  !  Mathilde  ! "  came  the  answer,  as 
Eli  dashed  up  to  meet  her. 

They  met  on  the  hill-side,  weeping  in  each 
other's  embrace.  Presently  Mathilde  took  up 
something  she  had  set  down  on  the  grass :  it 
was  a  bird-cage. 

"You  are  to  have  Narrifas — you  must  take 
him.  Mother  wants  you  to,  too.  Yes,  you 
must  take  Narrifas  after  all,  and  then  you'll 
often  think  of  me — and  often,  very  often,  row 
across  to  me  here."  And  at  that  both  fell 
a-crying  again. 

"  Eli !  Come,  come,  Eli !  Don't  stick  there ! " 
came  a  summons  from  below. 

"I'll  come  with  you,  that  I  will,"  said 
90 


ELI 

Mathildc;  I'll  go  across  with  you  and  sleep 
with  you  to-night." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes !  "  And  with  arms  round  one 
another's  necks,  down  they  went  to  the  landing- 
place.  A  moment  after,  and  Arne  saw  the  boat 
out  in  the  water,  Eli  standing  up  in  the  stern, 
holding  the  bird-cage,  and  waving  her  hand  to 
Mathilde,  who  was  sitting  on  a  stone  by  the 
landing-stage,  bitterly  weeping. 

She  sat  there  as  long  as  the  boat  was  in  sight 
on  the  water:  it  was  not  far  across  to  the  red 
houses,  and  Arne  remained  in  his  place.  His 
eyes  followed  the  boat  even  as  hers  did. 
Presently  it  was  on  the  black  strip  of  water  in 
the  shadows,  and  he  watched  it  draw  near  to  the 
land.  He  could  see  the  three  forms  mirrored 
in  the  water,  and  thus  he  followed  them  all  along 
the  houses,  till  they  came  to  the  best  of  them 
all.  He  saw  the  mother  go  in  first,  then  the 
father  with  the  chest,  and  lastly  the  daughter, 
for  he  could  distinguish  them  by  their  different 
statures.  Presently  the  daughter  came  out 
again  and  sat  down  by  the  granary  door,  most 
likely  to  get  a  last  glimpse  of  the  other  side,  as 
the  sun  lit  it  up  with  his  last  rays.  But  the 
.  91 


ARNE 

pastor's  daughter  was  gone,  and  there  was  no 
one  there  but  Arne,  who  sat  there  looking  at  her 
image  in  the  water.  "  Perhaps  she  sees  me 
now,"  was  in  his  heart. 

He  rose  and  went.  The  sun  had  set,  but 
the  heavens  were  blue  and  clear  as  they  only 
are  sometimes  on  summer  nights.  Clouds  of 
vapour  arose  from  land  and  water  on  both  sides 
of  the  mountains ;  but  the  peaks  stood  free  and 
unembarrassed  as  they  looked  at  one  another. 
He  went  up  the  hill-side ;  the  water  grew 
blacker  and  deeper  and  denser  in  his  eyes.  The 
valley  below  grew  narrower,  and  seemed  to  be 
getting  closer  to  the  water's  edge ;  the  peaks 
seemed  to  grow  nearer  together,  making  more  of 
a  solid  mass — for  the  bright  sun-rays  separate 
them.  The  heavens  themselves  came  nearer  to 
earth,  and  all  things  were  in  amity  and  repose. 


ga 


CHAPTER  IX 

A   NUTTING   PARTY 

Arne's  fancy  now  began  to  play  with  dreams 
of  love  and  fair  maidens;  his  old  ballads  and 
romances  made  him  behold  them  in  a  mystic 
mirror  like  the  young  girl  he  had  seen  mirrored 
in  the  water.  He  was  for  ever  looking  into  it, 
and  from  that  night  the  fancy  took  him  to  sing 
of  it  too ;  for  now  love  had  come,  so  to  speak, 
nearer  to  him.  But  his  thoughts  sped  away  from 
him,  and  came  back  with  a  song  that  seemed  to 
him  all  unknown;  it  was  as  if  some  one  else 
had  composed  it  for  him : 

"  Fair  Venevil  hastened,  with  light-tripping  feet, 
Her  lover  to  greet. 
She  sang  till  the  air  bore  the  echo  away, 

•  Good  day,  and  good  day ! ' 

And  all  the  small  singing-birds  twittered  this  lay : 

•  On  St.  Hans's  eve,  ^ 
All  their  toil  will  leave, 

Who  knows  if  she  then  may  her  bridal  wreath  weave  ? ' 

93 


ARNE 

"  She  weaves  him  a  garland  of  blossoms  blue, 
'  Of  my  eyes  the  hue  ! ' 
He  glanced  at  them,  dropped  them,  then  took  the  flowers 

gay- 
'  Fair  maiden,  good  day  ! ' 
He  left  her,  and  sang  as  he  went  on  his  way  : 

•  On  St.  Hans's  eve, 

All  their  toil  will  leave, 
Who  knows  if  she  then  may  her  bridal  wreath  weave  ? ' 

"  She  weaves  him  another.     '  Ah,  think  it  fair ! 
'Tis  my  golden  hair.' 
Then  she  coaxing  raised,  as  the  words  she  said, 

Her  mouth  so  red  : 
He  kissed  it,  and  blushed,  and  away  he  sped. 

'  She  wove  one  white  as  a  lily  band. 

'  See  !  'tis  my  right  hand  ! ' 
And  one,  blood-red  as  love's  agony* 

•  'Tis  the  left,  for  thee  : ' 

He  took  them  both,  but  away  turned  he. 

"  But  still  would  the  maiden  her  garlands  bind — 

•  'Tis  all  I  can  find  !  ' 

While  over  her  flowerets  fell  many  a  tear, 

•  Take  all  that  is  here ! ' 

He  took  them  in  silence,  and  fled  as  in  fear. 

"  She  wove  one,  pure  as  the  pale  moon's  ray, 
'  For  my  bridal  day  ! ' 
She  wove  till  the  blood  left  her  fingers  faur, 

•  Now  love,  deck  my  hair  I  ' 

But  ah !  when  she  sought  him  no  lover  was  there^ 

"  She  wove  and  she  tarried  not,  day  or  night, 
'  At  her  bride- wreath  white.' 
Summer,  and  flowers,  and  St.  Hans's  day 
All  have  passed  away. 

94 


A    NUTTING    PARTY 

Still  in  dreams  she  is  weaving  her  garland  gay. 
'  On  St.  Hans's  eve, 
All  their  toil  will  leave. 
Who  knows  if  she  then  may  her  bridal  wreath  weave  ?  '  " 


It  was  the  melancholy  in  his  heart  that  gave 
such  a  gloomy  cast  to  the  first  vision  of  love 
that  came  over  his  soul.  Two  heart's-desires — 
the  yearning  to  have  some  one  to  love,  and  the 
longing  to  do  some  great  thing — sprang  up 
together  in  his  soul,  and  melted  into  one.  It 
was  now  that  he  began  to  work  again  at  the 
song,  "  Over  the  mountains  high  " — ever  alter- 
ing it,  singing  it  over  to  himself,  and  thinking 
each  time,  "It'll  yet  carry  me  off  some  time  or 
another:  I'll  go  on  singing  it  till  I  pluck  up 
courage  enough."  He  did  not,  however,  forget 
his  mother  in  his  thoughts  of  travel ;  but  he 
consoled  himself  with  the  thought  that  he  would 
send  for  her  as  soon  as  he  had  got  a  footing 
abroad,  and  could  offer  her  a  life  such  as  he 
never  could  hope  to  get,  either  for  himself  or  for 
her,  at  home.  But  in  the  midst  of  his  great 
yearnings  there  played  around  him  something 
serene,  yet  bright  and  tender,  that  seemed  to 
dart  hither  and  thither,  lay  hold  of  him,  and 
95 


ARNE 

anon  fly  off  again;  so  that,  dreamer  as  he  had 
now  become,  he  was  more  thoroughly  in  the 
power  of  involuntary  fancies  than  he  himself 
knew. 

There  was  in  the  parish  a  merry  old  fellow  of 
the  name  of  Ejnar  Aasen ;  he  had  broken  his 
leg  when  twenty  years  of  age,  and  since  that 
time  walked  with  a  crutch,  but  wherever  he  ap- 
peared limping  along  on  his  crutch,  there  was 
always  some  merriment  forward.  The  man  was 
well-to-do;  there  was  a  great  nut-copse  on  his 
land,  and  it  was  a  regular  thing  for  a  troop  of 
merry  girls  to  come  together  at  his  house  on  one 
of  the  finest  days  in  autumn,  and  go  a-nutting. 
They  were  grandly  entertained  by  him  in  the 
day-time,  and  there  was  dancing  for  them  at  night. 
To  most  of  them  he  had  stood  sponsor — for  he 
stood  sponsor  to  half  the  parish :  all  children 
called  him  "  Godfather,"  and  young  and  old  alike 
followed  their  example. 

Now  Godfather  and  Arne  were  well  acquainted, 
and  the  man  liked  the  lad  for  his  songS;.  so  he 
invited  him  to  join  them  in  the  nutting  party. 
Arne  blushed  and  refused.  "  He  was  not  used 
to  being  among  women,"  he  said. 
96 


A    NUTTING    PARTY 

*'  Better  get  used  to  it  now,  then,"  answered 
Godfather. 

Arne  could  not  sleep  of  a  night  for  thinking 
of  it ;  fear  and  longing  were  at  strife  within 
him.  However,  in  the  long  run  he  not  only 
went,  but,  what  is  more,  was  in  fact  the  only 
young  man  among  all  these  girls. 

He  could  not  deny  that  he  felt  a  sense  of 
disillusion ;  these  were  not  the  maidens  of 
whom  he  had  made  songs,  nor  yet  were  they 
those  he  had  feared  to  encounter.  They  were 
more  full  of  life  than  anything  he  had  ever  seen, 
and  the  first  thing  which  struck  him  was  that 
they  could  make  merry  over  anything  in  the 
world ;  and  if  three  of  them  had  anything  to 
laugh  at,  incontinently  five  fell  a-laughing  just 
because  the  three  laughed.  They  behaved,  too, 
as  if  they  all  shared  one  another's  daily  life ; 
yet  there  were  some  there  who  had  never  met 
till  that  day.  If  they  got  hold  of  the  branch 
they  sprang  up  at,  they  laughed ;  and,  if  they 
missed  it,  they  laughed  too.  They  struggled  for 
the  nutting-hook  to  catch  the  branches  with. 
Those  who  got  it  laughed ;  those  who  failed  to 
get  it  laughed  too.  Godfather  hopped  after 
97  G 


ARNE 

them  with  his  crutch,  and  teased  them  as  much 
as  he  could.  Those  whom  he  caught  laughed 
because  he  caught  them;  those  he  failed  to 
catch  laughed  because  he  failed  to  catch  them. 
And  all  of  them  laughed  at  Arne  because  he 
was  serious-looking,  so  that  he  could  not  help 
laughing  too ;  and  that  made  them  laugh  at 
him  because  he  laughed  himself  at  last. 

They  seated  themselves  finally  on  a  big  knoll 
— Godfather  in  the  midst,  and  all  the  girls  about 
him.  There  was  a  wide  expanse  around  them, 
and  the  sun  was  burning  hot ;  but  the  girls 
cared  little  for  that,  as  they  pelted  one  another 
with  shells  and  husks,  and  gave  Godfather  the 
kernels.  Godfather  kept  ordering  them  to  be 
still,  and  striking  out  at  them  as  far  as  he  could 
reach  with  his  crutch  ;  for  now  he  wanted  them 
to  begin  telling  tales,  and  merry  ones,  if  possible. 
But  to  get  them  to  tell  stories  seemed  harder 
than  to  stop  a  runaway  cart  going  down  hill. 
Godfather  began,  but  many  of  them  would  not 
listen,  for  they  knew  his  tales  from  of  old,  they 
said ;  but  gradually  they  were  all  earnestly 
listening ;  and  before  they  knew,  they  were 
sitting  there,  telling  the  best  they  could.  And 
98 


A  NurrrNG  party 

what  astonished  Arne  most  was  that  their  stories 
were  now  as  serious  as  before  their  merriment 
had  been  noisy.     Most  of  them  ran  on  love, 

"  Now  then,  Aasa,  you've  got  a  good  one,  I 
remember,  from  last  year,"  said  Godfather,  turn- 
ing to  a  healthy,  gxx>d-natured  looking,  round- 
faced  lass,  who  sat  with  her  little  sister's  head 
on  her  lap,  plaiting  her  hair. 

"I  expect  lots  of  them  know  that,"  she 
answered. 

"Let's  have  it,  anyway,"  they  urged. 

"  Well,  I  won't  wait  to  be  pressed,  then,"  said 
she;  and  straightway  she  began  her  story, 
plaiting  her  sister's  hair  all  the  while  she  told 
it. 

"  Once  upon  a  time  there  w^as  a  young  man, 
who  used  to  go  tending  the  cattle :  he  liked  to 
drive  them  up  to  a  certain  broad  river.  A  bit 
higher  up  there  was  a  crag,  which  jutted  out  so 
far  over  the  stream  that  he  could  make  himself 
heard  from  it  on  the  other  side.  Now,  over  on 
that  other  side  was  a  girl  tending  her  flocks  ; 
he  could  see  her  all  day  long,  but  he  could 
not  get  over  to  her.  Day  after  day  he  questioned 
her: 

90 


ARNE 

"  •  Who  art  thou,  O  maid,  by  the  river  sitting, 
Blowing  the  horn,  and  for  ever  knitting.' 

"  Till  at  last  he  got  for  answer : 

••  •  My  name  it  swims,  like  the  gull  on  the  sea. 
O,  lad  with  the  fur  cap,  come  over  to  me.' 

"  At  this  the  boy  was  just  as  wise  as  he  was 
before ;  so  he  thought  he  wouldn't  trouble  about 
her  any  more.  But  this  wasn't  so  easy  to  do, 
for  let  him  drive  his  herd  wherever  he  pleased, 
it  was  sure  to  lead  him  somehow  or  other  back 
to  the  crag  again.  So  at  last  the  lad  grew 
frightened,  and  he  shouted  at  her : 

"  •  How  call  they  thy  father,  and  where  dost  thou  dwell  ? 
Ne'er  in  church  have  I  seen  thee.     Fair  maiden,  then  tell. 

'•  The  fact  is,  the  lad  began  half  to  believe  that 
she  was  a  troll. 

"  •  O,  drowned  is  my  father,  my  house  it  is  burnt, 
And  the  way  to  the  church  have  I  never  yet  learnt. ' 

"  But  this,  too,  left  the  lad  as  wise  as  he  was 
before.  He  spent  all  his  days  now  at  the  crag, 
and  at  night  he  dreamt  that  she  danced  round 
him,  lashing  out  at  him  with  a  great  cow-whip 
whenever  he   tried   to  catch   her.      At  last  he 

100 


A    NUTTING    PARTY 

could  not  sleep  by  night   or  work   by  day,   so 
that  he  fell  into  a  wretched  condition. 

"  •  If  thon  art  a  fairy,  then  far  from  me  flee ; 
But  if  mortal  maiden,  then  answer  to  me.' 

"Yet  she  made  no  answer,  so  now  he  felt 
certain  she  was  a  troll.  He  gave  up  tending  the 
cattle,  but  that  did  him  no  good,  for  wherever  he 
was,  and  whatever  he  was  doing,  his  thoughts 
were  always  of  the  fair  troll  playing  on  the 
horn. 

"  Well,  one  day,  as  he  was  standing  chopping 
up  wood,  there  came  through  the  yard  a  young 
girl  who  was  the  very  image  of  the  troll;  but 
when  she  came  nearer,  he  saw  it  was  not  she. 
He  was  still  thinking  of  this  when  the  girl  came 
back  again,  and,  at  a  distance,  she  was  so 
exactly  like  the  troll,  that  he  ran  up  to  her  at 
once.  But  when  he  came  near  it  was  not  she, 
all  the  same. 

"After  this,  wherever  the  lad  went — to 
church,  to  a  dance,  or  to  any  gathering  of  any 
sort — he  always  saw  this  girl.  Some  way  otf 
from  him  she  seemed  his  troll  exactly,  but  close 
at  hand  she  was  different ;  so  at  last  he  asked 
xoz 


ARNE 

her  if  it  was  she  or  not,  but  she  only  laughed  at 
him.  '  Well,  well,'  thought  the  lad,  '  I  may  as 
well  jump  in  as  slip  in,'  so  he  went  and  married 
the  girl. 

"  Well,  when  he  had  done  this,  he  no  longer 
liked  the  girl.  When  away  from  her  he  was 
always  longing  for  her,  but  when  he  was  with 
her  he  was  always  yearning  for  one  whom  he 
could  not  see.  Hence  the  lad  did  not  treat  his 
wife  kindly ;  but  she  bore  with  him  in  patient 
silence. 

"  Now  one  day,  as  he  was  going  after  some 
horses,  his  way  took  him  up  to  the  crag,  and  he 
sat  down  there  and  sang : 

•*  •  Like  moonlight  far  over  the  cliffs  dost  thou  play, 
And  like  Will-o' -the- Wisp  shines  thy  far-distant  ray.' 

"  It  seemed  to  him  good  to  sit  there,  and 
from  that  time  he  often  went  to  the  crag,  when 
he  was  discontented  with  home.  But  each 
time,  when  he  had  gone  out,  his  wife  fell 
a-weeping. 

"  One  day,  as  he  sat  there,  there,  on  the 
other  side,  before  his  very  eyes,  sat  the  troll, 
blowing  her  horn. 


A   NUTTING   PARTY 

•• '  Ah !  there  thou  art,  fair  one !  oh,  blow  once  again. 
While  lonely  I  listen,  and  weep  in  my  pain. ' 

"  Then  she  answered : 

** '  Till  the  dreams  have  gone  out  of  your  head  I  will  blow, 
For  at  home  the  corn  ripens,  and  home  you  must  go.' 

"At  this  the  lad  grew  frightened,  and  went 
back  to  his  home.  But,  before  very  long,  he 
grew  so  tired  of  his  wife  again,  that  he  couldn't 
help  going  to  the  crag  over  the  river  in  the  wood. 
Then  he  heard  singing :    • 

•• '  I  dreamed  that  thou  camest ;  now  hasten  to  find  me ; 
But  if  thou  wouldst  do  so,  then  look  well  behind  thee.' 

"  The  lad  started  up  and  looked  around  him  : 
the  end  of  a  green  skirt  twinkled  away  among 
the  bushes.  After  it  dashed  he :  then  followed 
a  chase  through  the  wood.  Fleet  of  foot  as  the 
troll  no  human  being  could  be.  He  cast  spells 
at  her  time  after  time,  but  she  ran  on  just  as  well 
as  before.  But  at  last  she  began  to  grow 
weary,  as  the  lad  could  see  from  the  way  she 
ran;  he  could  see,  too,  more  and  more  clearly, 
from  his  view  of  her  figure,  that  she  was  his 
troll,  and  no  other. 

"  *  Now  you  shall  certainly  be  mine/  thought 
X03 


ARNE 

the  lad,  and  suddenly  he  dashed  at  her  so 
impetuously  that  both  he  and  the  troll  fell,  and 
rolled  far  down  the  hill  together  before  they 
could  stop  themselves. 

"Then  the  troll  laughed,  sc  that  it  seemed 
to  the  lad  the  mountains  sang  again.  He 
clasped  her  to  his  heart,  and  she  was  fair  as  he 
had  wished  his  own  wife  to  be. 

•' '  Who  art  thou,  oh,  beauteous  maid  ?  '  asked 
the  lad,  and  he  stroked  her  soft  cheeks,  which 
were  glowing. 

" '  Dear  heart,'  answered  the  troll,  '  I  am 
only  your  own  wife.'  " 

The  girls  laughed  and  made  merry  over  the 
lad's  folly.  Godfather  turned  to  Arne,  and 
asked  him  if  he  had  been  listening  carefully. 

"Well,  now  /'//  tell  you  something,"  cried  a 
little  lass,  with  a  little  round  face  and  a  little 
round  nose. 

"  There  was  once  a  little  fellow  who  wanted 
very  much  to  make  love  to  a  little  girl ;  they 
were  both  quite  old  enough,  but  they  were  both 
such  little  things.  The  boy  could  never  pluck 
up  courage  enough  to  begin.  He  kept  close  to 
her  at  church-time,  but  never  could  talk  to  her 
104 


A    NUTTING    PARTY 

of  anything  but  the  weather.  He  followed  her 
about  at  dances,  and  almost  danced  her  to  death ; 
yet  he  could  not  manage  to  talk  to  her. 

*•  *  You  must  learn  to  write,'  said  he  to  him- 
self, at  last,  '  so  you'll  not  need  to  say  it ' ;  and 
off  he  went  to  learn  writing. 

'•  He  kept  thinking  he  could  not  write  well 
enough,  so  that  he  was  a  whole  year  before  he 
ventured  to  write  the  letter.  Then  it  was 
necessary  to  get  it  given  her  without  any  one 
seeing  it.  So  one  day,  as  they  happened  to 
be  alone  together  behind  the  church,  the  lad 
said  : 

"  *  I've  got  a  letter  for  you.' 

" '  But,'  answered  the  girl,  *  I  can't  read 
writing.' 

"  So  there  he  was  at  a  standstill  again. 

"  Well,  the  lad  went  into  her  father's  service, 
and  never  let  her  be  out  of  his  sight  all  day 
long.  Once  he  had  very  nearly  managed  to  ask 
her:  he  had  just  got  his  mouth  open,  when  in 
flew  a  great  fly. 

"  '  Suppose  some  one  were  to  come  and  take 
her  from  me  ! '  thought  he ;  but  nobody  came 
and  took  her  from  him,  because  she  was  so  litile. 
105 


ARNE 

"  At  last,  however,  somebody  did  come,  and 
he  was  little  too.  The  lad  saw  at  once  what 
the  new  comer  meant,  so,  when  they  went  up 
to  the  loft  together,  the  lad  ran  and  placed  him- 
self at  the  key- hole.  Then  the  stranger  inside 
began  to  make  love  to  her. 

" '  Oh  ! '  groaned  the  lad  to  himself,  '  what  a 
noodle  I  must  have  been,  not  to  have  been 
quicker  about  it  myself.' 

"Then  the  wooer  inside  kissed  the  girl  on 
the  lips. 

" '  Ah,  that  tasted  nice,  I  daresay,'  snarled 
the  lad  to  himself. 

"Then  the  lover  inside  took  the  girl  on  his 
knee. 

"  '  Oh,  what  a  world  we  live  in  ! '  moaned  the 
lad,  and  he  burst  out  crying. 

"  The  girl  heard  the  noise,  and  went  to  the  door. 

"  *  What  is  it  you  want  of  me,  horrid  boy, 
that  I  never  can  get  a  moment's  peace  because 
of  you  ? ' 

"  '  I  want  ?  I  only  wanted  to  ask  to  be  your 
best  man.' 

"'No;    that  one   of  my  brothers  shall   be,' 
answered  the  girl,  and  she  slammed  the  door. 
io6 


A    NXJTTING   PARTY 

"And  there  stood  the  boy,  alone  again." 

The  girls  laughed  loudly  at  this  tale,  and 
began  to  pelt  each  other  vigorously  with  nut- 
shells again. 

Godfather  wanted  Eli  BOen  to  tell  them  some- 
thing now. 

"  Yes,  but  what  was  it  to  be  ?  "  she  asked. 

Why,  let  her  tell  them  what  she  had  told 
him,  last  time  he  was  over  the  hills  at  her 
people's  house,  when  she  gave  him  the  new 
garters. 

It  was  long  before  Eli  could  be  got  to  begin, 
because  she  was  laughing  so ;  but  at  last  she 
said : 

"A  boy  and  a  girl  were  once  walking 
together  along  a  road. 

"  *  Look  at  that  thrush  following  us/  said  the 
girl. 

"  *  Following  me,  you  mean/  said  the  boy. 

"*Just  as  likely  me  as  you/  answered  the 
girl. 

"  *  That's  easy  to  see,"  retorted  the  boy ;  '  you 
go  by  the  lower  road  and  I'll  go  by  the  upper, 
and  we'll  meet  up  there  at  the  end.' 

"  They  did  as  he  said. 
107 

t 


ARNE 

" '  Well/  said  the  boy,  when  they  met  again, 
'it  followed  me,  you  see.' 

"  *  Why,  it  followed  me,'  answered  the  girl. 

"  *  There  must  be  two  of  them,'  said  he. 

"They  walked  on  together  again  for  a  while, 
but  there  was  only  one  bird  now.  The  boy 
insisted  it  was  flying  along  on  his  side,  but  the 
girl  was  just  as  positive  it  was  on  hers. 

"  *  I  don't  care  a  pin  for  the  old  thrush,'  said 
the  boy,  at  last. 

" '  Nor  do  I,  then,'  answered  the  girl. 

"But  no  sooner  had  they  said  this,  than  the 
thrush  disappeared. 

"  *  It  was  on  your  side,  after  all,'  said  the 
boy. 

"  '  No,  thank  you.  I  saw  plainly  enough  it 
was  on  yours,'  retorted  she.  '  But  look ;  here 
he  is  come  again,'  she  cried. 

"  '  Yes,  so  he  is.  Well,  he's  on  my  side  now, 
at  any  rate,'  shouted  the  boy. 

"  At  this  the  girl  lost  her  temper. 

" '  I'd  rather  do  anything  than  walk  along 
with  a  horrid  thing  like  you  ! '  And  she  went 
her  own  way. 

"  At  this,  the  thrush  flew  away  from  the  boy  ; 
io8 


A    NUTTING   PARTY 

and  he  found  it  so  tedious,  that  he  began  to  call 
her  name. 

"She  answered. 

"  *  Is  the  thrush  with  you  ? '  shouted  the  boy. 

"  *  No  ;  isn't  he  with  you  ?  ' 

"  *  No,  no.  Why  don't  you  come  back  here  ; 
then  perhaps  he'll  come  to,' 

"So  the  girl  came  back,  and  they  took  one 
another's  hands  and  walked  along  together. 

"  '  Tweet,  tweet,  tweet,  tweet, ! '  came  from  the 
girl's  side  of  the  way. 

"  '  Tweet,  tweet,  tweet,  tweet  1 '  came  from  the 
boy's  side. 

"  *  Tweet,  tweet,  tweet,  tweet,  tweet,  tweet, 
tweet,  tweet ! '  came  from  all  sides ;  and  when 
they  looked  to  see  where  it  came  from,  they 
saw  a  hundred  thousand  million  thrushes  round 
them. 

"  *  Oh,  how  lovely ! '  cried  the  girl,  and  she 
looked  at  the  boy. 

"  '  God  bless  you,  dear ! '  said  he,  and  patted 
her  cheeks." 

This  story  delighted  all  the  girls. 

Then  Godfather  thought  it  would  be  nice  for 
them  to  tell  what  they  had  last  dreamt,  and  he 
109 


ARNE 

would  judge  which  of  them  had  had  the  best 
dream. 

"  What !  tell  what  they  had  dreamt  1 "  cried 
they.  "  No,  indeed !  "  And  they  all  began  to 
laugh  and  whisper.  But  gradually  one  girl  after 
another  began  to  declare  that  she  had  had  such 
a  wonderful  dream  the  night  before. 

"Ah,"  said  another,  "but  it  couldn't  have 
been  so  wonderful  as  mine  was." 

And  at  last  all  of  them  were  anxious  to  be 
telling  their  dreams. 

"  But  not  aloud,"  they  all  stipulated ;  "  only 
to  some  one  person ;  and  that  person  must  cer- 
tainly not  be  Godfather." 

Arne  was  sitting  silent  on  a  knoll  a  little  way 
off,  and  they  decided  they  would  trust  their 
dreams  to  him.  He  was  sitting  in  the  shade  of 
a  hazel-bush  when  the  girl  who  had  told  the  first 
story  came  up  to  him.  She  considered  for  a 
while  and  then  began  : 

"  I  dreamt  I  was  standing  by  a  great  sheet  of 
water.  Then  I  saw  some  one  moving  over  the 
water,  and  that  was  one  whose  name  I  will  not 
say.  He  got  up  on  the  cup  of  a  great  water- 
lily,  and  there  he  sat,  singing.  Now  I  went 
fio 


A   NUTTING   PARTY 

And  Stood  on  one  ot  the  great  lily-leaves  that  lie 
swimming  on  the  water ;  I  wanted  to  row  over 
to  him  on  it.  But  as  soon  as  I  got  on  the  leaf, 
it  began  to  sink  with  me,  and  I  was  so  frightened, 
that  I  burst  out  crying.  Then  he  came  rowing 
up  in  the  lily-cup,  took  me  into  it,  and  away  we 
rowed,  right  across  the  water.  Wasn't  that  a 
beautiful  dream  ?  " 

Next  came  the  little  girl  who  had  told  the 
tale  about  the  little  people. 

"  I  dreamed  I  had  cauglit  a  little  bird,  and  I 
was  so  glad.  I  didn't  mean  to  let  it  go  till  I 
had  got  it  home ;  but  when  I  got  there,  I  didn't 
dare  to  let  it  go  either,  for  fear  father  and 
mother  might  bid  me  let  it  out  again.  So  I 
went  up  to  the  garret  with  it ;  but  there  was  the 
cat  lurking  about,  so  that  I  couldn't  let  it  go 
there  either.  Then  I  didn't  know  what  to  do, 
so  I  went  to  the  barn  ;  but,  oh  dear !  there  were 
so  many  chinks,  that  it  would  easily  have  flown 
out  through  one.  So  I  went  away  with  it, 
down  to  the  farm-yard  again,  and  there  (I 
thought)  there  was  standing  some  one  whose 
name  I  will  not  say.  He  stood  playing  with  a 
big,  big  dog. 

xzz 


ARNE 

"  '  I  would  rather  play  with  your  bird,'  said 
he,  and  he  came  quite  near. 

"  But  now  (I  thought)  I  suddenlj'  dashed 
away  with  him,  the  big  dog  after  me,  and  away 
we  went  round  the  yard;  but  mother  quickly 
opened  the  door,  pulled  me  in,  and  shut  it  to 
again.  Outside  stood  he,  laughing,  with  his 
face  against  the  window-pane. 

"  '  Look,  here's  your  bird  ! '  he  cried.  And 
fancy,  he  actually  had  it. 

"  Wasn't  that  a  funny  dream  ?  " 

Next  came  the  girl  who  had  told  about  all  the 
thrushes.  "  Eli,"  the  others  called  her.  It  was 
this  Eli  whom  he  had  seen  that  evening  in  the 
boat,  and  mirrored  in  the  lake.  She  was  just 
the  same  as  then,  and  yet  not  the  same,  so 
maidenly  and  handsome  did  she  look  now  with 
her  thoughtful  face  and  slender  figure,  as  she 
took  her  place.  She  was  laughing  very  much, 
and  it  was  long  before  she  could  manage  to 
speak.     At  last  she  began  : 

"  I  had  been  so  enjoying  the  thought  of 
coming  here  nutting  to-day,  that  last  night  J 
dreamt  I  was  sitting  here  on  the  hill.  The  sun 
was  shining,  and  I  had  my  lap  all  full  of  nuts, 

112 


A   NUTTING   PARTY 

but  a  little  squirrel  had  got  in  all  among  my 
nuts,  and  he  sat  up  in  my  lap  and  ate  them  all. 
Wasn't  that  a  funny  dream  ?  " 

And  now,  when  many  dreams  had  been  told 
him,  he  had  to  say  which  was  the  best.  He 
wanted  time  to  think,  he  said  ;  so,  meantime, 
Godfather,  with  all  his  troop,  made  his  way  to 
the  homestead,  whither  Arne  was  to  follow  them. 
They  darted  down  the  hill,  and  arranged  them- 
selves in  ranks  when  they  had  got  on  to  level 
ground,  and  marched  back  to  the  house  singing. 

Arne,  left  sitting  on  the  knoll,  heard  their 
singing.  The  sun's  rays  were  falling  on  the 
merry  band,  and  their  white  sleeves  glistened  in 
the  distance.  Sometimes  one  would  take  another 
round  the  waist ;  then  away  they  danced  over 
the  meadow,  with  Godfather  after,  threatening 
them  with  his  stick  for  treading  down  the  grass. 
Arne  was  no  longer  thinking  of  the  dreams,  nor 
did  his  eyes  long  follow  the  young  girls;  his 
fancies  were  spreading  over  the  dale  like  bright 
sun-threads,  and  he  sat  upon  the  hill-side, 
weaving  them  together.  Before  he  was  con- 
scious of  it,  he  was  caught  in  a  web  of  sad 
longings ;  there  was  a  yearning  in  his  heart  to 
113  H 


ARNE 

be  g(5ne,  such  as  never  had  been  there  in  his 
life  before.  He  vowed  to  tell  his  mother  of  his 
intent  as  soon  he  got  home  again,  come  of  it 
what  would. 

These  thoughts  grew  upon  him  every  minute, 
and  drove  him  to  his  old  song,  "  Over  the 
mountains  high."  Never  had  the  words  come 
so  easily  to  him  before,  nor  ranged  themselves 
so  fairly  to  his  desire ;  they  seemed  to  him  like 
maidens  sitting  together  on  a  hill.  He  drew 
forth  a  scrap  of  paper  and  wrote  on  it,  on  his 
knee.  And  when  he  had  written  his  song  through 
to  the  end,  up  he  rose,  as  if  freed  from  a  burden. 
He  had  no  wish  to  go  back  to  the  rest ;  he  began 
to  make  his  way  homewards  through  the  woods, 
though  he  knew  he  would  need  to  be  walking 
the  whole  night. 

The  first  time  he  sat  down  to  rest  on  the  way, 
he  thought  he  would  take  out  the  song,  and  sing 
it  through  to  himself  all  through  the  parish  ;  but 
he  found  he  had  left  it,  forgotten,  on  the  spot 
where  he  made  it. 

One  of  the  girls  came  to  seek  him  at  the 
knoll ;  she  found — not  him,  but  the  song. 


"4 


CHAPTER  X 

AT    BQEN 

To  "have  a  talk  with  mother"  was  a  thing 
easier  to  say  than  to  do.  He  alluded  casually 
to  Kristen,  and  the  letters  which  never  came  ; 
but  at  that  his  mother  left  the  room,  and  for  days 
afterwards  he  thought  her  eyes  were  red.  He 
perceived,  too,  another  sign  of  her  state  of  mind, 
and  that  was  that  she  got  especially  nice  meals 
for  him. 

One  day  he  had  to  go  to  the  forest,  to  cut 
down  some  wood  ;  his  way  ran  through  the 
thickets,  and  the  spot  where  he  was  to  begin  his 
hewing  was  a  place  frequented  in  autumn-time 
for  its  wortleberries.  Arne  had  put  down  his 
axe  to  take  off  his  coat,  and  was  just  about  to 
begin,  when  two  girls  came  along  with  berry- 
pails.  It  was  always  his  way  to  hide  himself 
"5 


ARNE 

rather  than  encounter  a  girl,  so  that  was  what  he 
did  now. 

"  O,  I  say  !  I  say !  "  he  heard,  "  just  look  at 
all  the  berries  !     Eli,  Eli !  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  yes — I  see." 

"  But  don't  let's  go  any  further ;  there  are  any 
number  of  pailfuls  here." 

"  I  thought  I  heard  a  rustle  in  the  thicket  there." 

"  Oh,  you  silly  !  "  said  the  other ;  and  each  girl 
clasped  the  other  nervously  round  the  waist,  and 
for  a  while  they  stood  so  still  as  scarcely  to  draw 
breath. 

"Oh,  it's  nothing,  after  all/'  said  one  at  length, 
"  let's  begin  picking." 

"  Yes,  yes,  let's  begin,  then,"  said  the  other, 
and  they  began  again  to  fill  their  pails. 

"  It  was  nice  of  you,  Eli,  to  come  over  to  the 
parsonage  to-day.  Now — haven't  you  something 
to  tell  me  .''  " 

"  I've  been  at  Godfather's " 

"  Yes,   yes,  you  told   me  that ;    but  is  there 
nothing  about — you  know  whom  ?  " 
"Ah,  yes!" 

"  Oh,  Eli !  really,  really  ?  Do  be  quick  and  tell 
me,  dear." 

Ii6 


AT   BOEN 

"  He's  been  again  ! " 

"What,  really?" 

"  Yes,  really.  Both  father  and  mother  made 
as  if  they  didn't  notice  anything,  but  I  ran  up  to 
the  garret  and  hid  myself." 

"  Go  on,  go  on.     Did  he  follow  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  father  must  have  told  him  where  I 
was.     He's  always  so  horrid  now." 

"  So  he  came  after  you,  then  ?  Here,  sit 
down,  sit  down  by  me — now.  He  came  up,  you 
say?" 

"  Yes,  but  he  didn't  say  much,  he  was  so  shy." 

"  Tell  me  every  word  he  said,  anyhow,  every 
word." 

"  *  Are  you  afraid  of  me  ? '  said  he.  *  Why 
should  I  be  afraid  of  you  ?  '  said  I.  '  You  know 
what  it  is  I  want  of  you,'  said  he,  and  seated 
himself  on  the  chest  beside  me." 

"  Beside  you  ! " 

"  And  then  he  put  his  arm  round  my  waist " 

"  Round  your  waist !  are  you  mad  ?  " 

"  I  tried  to  get  away  again,  but  he  wouldn't 
let  me  go.  '  Dear  Eli,'  said  he " — and  she 
laughed,  and  the  other  girl  laughed  too. 

"  Well  ?  well  ?— what  then  ?  " 
117 


ARNE 

"  Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  "  said  he. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha  I "  laughed  her  hearer. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! "  laughed  Eli. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  "  laughed  they  both. 

"At  last,  however,  even  the  girl's  laughter 
could  not  but  come  to  an  end,  and  then  for  a 
while  there  was  perfect  silence,  after  which  came 
a  question  in  a  low  voice. 

"But,  Eli,  tell  me — wasn't  it — wasn't  it  horrid, 
when  he  put  his  arm  round  you  ?  " 

The  other  either  made  no  answer  to  this,  or 
else  it  was  in  so  low  a  tone  that  it  could  not 
be  overheard ;  perhaps  it  was  only  a  smile. 
Presently  the  first  speaker  began  again. 

"  Didn't  your  father  or  your  mother  say  any- 
thing to  you  about  it  afterwards  ?  " 

"  Father  came  up  and  looked  at  me,  but  I  hid 
myself  directly,  for  he  laughed  as  soon  as  he 
saw  me." 

"  And  your  mother  ?  " 

"She  said  nothing,  but  she's  not  been  so 
severe  as  usual." 

'  You  refused  him,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

Then  there  was  silence  again  for  a  time. 
ii8 


AT   BOEN 

"I  say?" 

"Well?" 

"  Do  you  think  any  one  will  ever  come  to  me 
like  that  ?  " 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"  Are  you  really  in  earnest  ?  O — O — Eli — 
suppose  he  were  to  take  me  by  the  waist !  "  And 
she  hid  her  face. 

Presently  they  were  laughing,  chattering,  and 
whispering  together,  and  before  long  they  de- 
parted. They  had  neither  of  them  seen  Arne, 
or  his  axe  or  coat,  of  which  he  was  very  glad. 

Some  days  after,  he  took  Upland  Knut  to  work 
and  live  at  Kampen. 

"You  shall  no  longer  be  alone,"  said  Arne. 

Arne  himself  was  now  at  work  with  a  purpose. 
He  had  early  learnt  how  to  handle  a  saw,  for 
he  had  done  much  to  the  house  at  Kampen. 
Now  he  wanted  to  practise  carpentry  as  a 
trade,  knowing  it  was  best  to  have  a  regular 
handicraft,  and  he  knew,  too,  that  it  was  good 
for  him  to  mix  with  other  people ;  and  such  was 
the  alteration  that  had  gradually  taken  place  in 
him,  that  he  now  felt  himself  longing  for  com- 
panionship whenever  he  had  been  for  a  while  all 
119 


ARNE 

alone.  It  happened  that  that  winter  he  was  at 
the  parsonage,  with  his  axe  and  saw,  and  both 
the  girls  were  often  together  there  too.  Arne 
wondered,  when  he  saw  them,  who  on  earth  it 
was  that  was  wooing  Eli  B6en. 

It  happened  one  day  that  he  was  to  take  the 
pastor's  daughter  and  E!i  for  a  drive ;  he  had 
sharp  ears,  but  for  all  that,  he  could  not  hear 
what  they  were  talking  of.  Now  and  again, 
Mathilde  spoke  a  word  to  him,  and  then  Eli 
would  laugh,  and  turn  away  her  face.  Once 
Mathilde  asked  him  if  it  was  true  that  he  wrote 
verses.  "  No,"  said  he,  shortly ;  and  then  both 
girls  began  to  laugh,  chatter,  and  giggle.  After 
this,  Arne  was  not  best  pleased  with  them,  and 
behaved  as  if  he  did  not  see  them. 

Once  he  was  sitting  in  the  servants'  room 
when  there  was  dancing  going  on,  and  Mathilde 
and  Eli  had  both  come  in  to  look  on.  They  were 
evidently  discussing  something  in  the  corner, 
something  which  Eli  did  not  want,  it  seemed,  but 
Mathilde  did ;  and  the  latter  had  her  way.  So 
up  they  both  came  to  where  he  sat,  bowed,  and 
asked  if  he  could  dance.  He  said  he  could 
not,  and  at  this  both  turned,  laughed,  and  fled. 


AT   BOEN 

"  That's  a  nice  way  to  laugh,"  thought  Arne,  and 
he  grew  grave.  But  the  pastor  had  a  Httle 
foster-son,  ten  or  twelve  years  old,  whom  Arne 
was  very  fond  of;  now  from  this  boy  Arne 
learned  to  dance,  when  no  one  else  was  by  to  see. 

Eli  had  a  little  brother,  the  same  age  as  the 
pastor's  foster  son.  These  two  were  playmates, 
and  Arne  made  sledges,  snow-shoes,  and  bird- 
snares  for  them,  while  he  talked  with  them  much 
of  their  sisters,  especially  of  Eli.  One  day, 
Eli's  brother  brought  him  word  that  he  was  not 
to  be  so  untidy  and  careless  about  his  hair. 

"  Who  said  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Eli  did ;  but  I  was  not  to  tell  that  she 
said  it." 

Some  days  after,  he  sent  word  that  Eli  might 
laugh  a  little  less.  The  boy  came  back  again, 
with  the  message  that  Arne  might  laugh  a  little 
more. 

One  day,  the  boy  wanted  to  have  something 
he  had  written.  Arne  let  him  do  so,  and  thought 
no  more  about  it.  A  little  while  later,  the  boy 
tried  to  gladden  Arne  with  the  tidings  that  both 
the  girls  liked  his  writing  very  much. 

"  Have  they  seen  seen  it  then  ?  " 

121 


ARNE 

"Yes;  it  was  for  them  that  I  wanted  it." 

Arne  told  the  boys  to  bring  him  something 
that  their  sisters  had  written,  and  they  did  so. 
Arne  corrected  their  writing  with  a  carpenter's 
pencil,  and  bade  the  boys  put  it  where  it  would 
be  easy  for  them  to  find  it.  Later  on,  he  found 
the  paper  in  his  jacket  pocket  again,  and,  written 
at  the  foot  of  it  the  words,  "  Corrected  by  a 
conceited  goose." 

Next  day,  Arne  finished  his  work  at  the 
parsonage  and  went  home.  His  mother  had 
never  found  him  so  gentle  as  he  was  this  winter, 
since  that  sorrowful  time  that  followed  his 
father's  death.  He  read  the  sermon  to  her,  he 
went  to  church  with  her,  and  was  kind  to  her  in 
every  way.  But  she  knew  right  well  all  the 
while  that  this  was  only  to  gain  her  consent  to 
his  leaving  her,  to  travel,  when  spring  came. 
Meanwhile,  one  day,  a  messenger  came  from 
B6en,  to  ask  him  if  he  would  go  over  there  for 
some  carpentry  work. 

Arne  was  thrown  into  confusion,  and  answered 
"Yes,"  apparently  without  thinking  the  matter 
over.  As  soon  as  the  man  had  gone,  however, 
the  mother  said  : 


AT  BOEN 

"You  may  well  be  dumbfounded.  From 
Boen ! " 

"  Is  that  so  wonderful,  then  ? "  asked  Arne, 
without  looking  at  her. 

"  From  Been  ! "  cried  Margit  again. 

"Well,  why  not,  as  well  as  from  any  other 
farm  ?  "  said  he,  looking  up  a  bit. 

"  From  B6en  and  Birgit  Bsen  !  from  Baard, 
who  maimed  your  father,  and  all  for  Birgit's 
sake ! " 

"What's  that  you  say?"  cried  the  boy. 
"  Was  it  Baard  Boen  who  did  thai  ?  " 

Son  and  mother  stood  looking  at  one  another. 
A  whole  life-time  swept  before  their  eyes,  and 
for  an  instant  they  saw  the  black  thread  that 
was  woven  through  it  from  beginning  to  end. 
Presently  they  began  to  talk  of  the  days  of  Nils's 
glory,  when  old  Eli  Bden  herself  sought  him  for 
her  daughter  Birgit,  and  got  a  refusal.  They 
went  on  talking  till  they  got  to  where  Nils  was 
struck  down,  and  both  found  out  that  Baard's 
guilt  in  the  matter  had  been  the  less ;  but  never- 
theless it  was  he  and  none  other  that  had  made 
Arne's  father  a  cripple. 

"Am  I  never  to  be  finished  with  father?" 
123 


ARNE 

thought  Arne,  and  at  once  made  up  his  mind 
to  go. 

When  Arne  walked  across  the  ice  to  B6en, 
his  saw  over  his  shoulder,  it  seemed  to  him  a  fine 
homestead.  The  house  looked  as  if  it  had  been 
new-painted  all  over :  he  was  feeling  cold,  and 
perhaps  that  was  why  it  looked  so  cosy  and 
pleasant  to  him.  Instead  of  going  straight  in, 
he  went  round  by  the  farm-yard.  There  was  a 
herd  of  shaggy-haired  goats  nibbling  about  in 
the  snow  at  some  birch  boughs :  a  sheep-dog 
was  running  backw^ards  and  forwards  in  front  oi 
the  barn,  barking  as  if  the  fiend  were  coming 
into  the  yard ;  but  as  soon  as  Arne  halted  he 
began  to  wag  his  tail,  and  let  himself  be  stroked. 
The  kitchen  door  on  the  other  side  of  the  house 
opened  every  now  and  again,  and  each  time  Arne 
looked  in,  but  saw  only  the  milkmaid  with  her 
pails,  or  the  cook  throwing  out  something  to  the 
goats.  From  the  barn  came  the  sound  of  lusty 
threshing.  On  the  left,  by  a  pile  of  logs,  stood 
a  lad  chopping  up  wood,  and  behind  him  were 
sundry  wood-heaps. 

Arne  put  down  his  saw,  and  went  into  ithe 
hitchen.     The  floor  was  all  covered  with  white 

184 


AT    BOEN 

sand,  and  tiny  shavings  of  juniper ;  along  the 
walls  shone  brightly-polished  copper  cooking 
utensils,  and  in  the  racks  were  rows  of  china. 
Dinner  was  being  cooked.  Arne  asked  if  he 
could  speak  to  Baard.  "  Go  into  the  parlour," 
answered  a  maid,  pointing.  He  went.  He 
noticed  that  there  was  no  latch  to  the  door,  but 
a  handle  of  brass  instead.  The  room  was  clean 
and  well-painted,  the  ceiling  ornamented  with 
roses  ;  the  presses  coloured  red,  with  their 
owner's  name  in  black  letters,  and  the  bedstead 
to  match,  but  with  the  addition  of  blue  stripes 
round  the  edges.  By  the  fireplace  sat  a  broad- 
shouldered  man,  with  a  kind  face  and  long  yellow 
hair  ;  he  was  fitting  hoops  on  some  tubs.  At 
the  end  of  the  long  table  sat  a  woman  with  a 
linen  hood  on  her  head ;  she  wore  closely-fitting 
clothes,  and  was  tall  and  slender ;  she  was  busy 
dividing  a  heap  of  grain  into  two  portions. 
These  were  the  only  people  in  the  room. 

"  Good   day,  and  good  luck  to  your  work ! " 
said  Arne,  taking  off  his  cap. 

Both  looked  up.     The  man  smiled,  and  asked 
who  he  was. 

"  The  man  about  the  carpentry." 
125 


ARNE 

The  man  smiled  still  more,  nodding  his  head 
and  beginning  his  work  again.  "  Ah !  Arne 
Kampen." 

"  Arne  Kampen  ?  "  cried  the  woman,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  him.  The  man  looked  up  quickly,  with 
another  smile.  "Son  of  Nils  Skraedder,"  he 
said,  and  settled  down  to  his  work  again. 

Next  minute  the  woman  had  risen,  gone  to  a 
shelf,  turned  round,  moved  back  to  a  cupboard, 
turned  back  again,  bending  down  as  if  groping 
for  something  in  a  drawer,  and  asked,  without 
looking  up : 

"  Is  he  to  work  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  is,"  said  the  man,  without  looking 
up  either.  "  You  haven't  been  asked  to  take  a 
seat,  I'm  afraid,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  Arne. 

Arne  sat  down  by  the  door.  The  woman  left 
the  room,  the  man  went  on  with  his  work.  Arne 
asked  if  he  might  begin  work  too.  "  We'll  have 
dinner  first,"  was  the  answer. 

The  woman  did  not  return,  but  next  time  the 
kitchen  door  opened  it  was  Eli  who  came  in.  At 
first  she  made  as  if  she  did  not  see  him.  He  got 
up  to  meet  her,  and  she  turned  half  round  as 
she  gave  him  her  hand,  without  letting  her  eyes 
126 


AT   BOEN 

meet  his.  They  exchanged  a  few  words,  while 
the  father  went  on  working.  Eh's  hair  was  in 
plaits  now ;  she  wore  a  bodice  with  tight-fitting 
sleeves,  her  figure  was  slender  and  graceful,  her 
wrists  prettily  curved,  and  her  hands  small. 

She  began  to  lay  the  table.  The  work- folk 
took  their  dinner  in  the  other  room,  but  Arne 
and  the  household  had  theirs  in  the  parlour.  It 
happened  that  particular  day  that  they  dined 
alone,  but  generally  they  all  sat  at  the  same 
table  in  the  big  light  kitchen. 

"  Isn't  your  mother  coming  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  No ;  she  is  in  the  garret,  weighing  out 
wool." 

"  Have  you  asked  her  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  she  says  she  doesn't  want  any- 
thing to  eat." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  and  then  the 
man  said : 

"  It  must  be  cold  up  in  the  garret." 

"  She  wouldn't  let  me  light  the  fire,"  answered 
Eli. 

After  dinner  Arne  began  his  work ;  in  the 
evening  he  sat  with  the  others  again.  The 
mother  was  with  them  too ;  she  and  her  daughter 
127 


ARNE 

were  sewing,  the  man  was  employed  in  mend- 
ing various  little  things,  and  Arne  helped.  For 
a  long  time  there  was  perfect  stillness,  for 
Eli,  whose  wont  it  seemed  to  be  to  lead  the 
talk,  was  now  quite  silent.  It  struck  Arne,  with 
a  sort  of  dread,  that  it  was  often  so  in  his  own 
home ;  but  now,  for  the  first  time,  it  seemed  to 
him  oppressive.  At  last  Eli  drew  a  deep  breath, 
as  if  she  had  held  it  long  enough,  and  began  to 
laugh.  Then  the  father  began  to  laugh  too,  and 
Arne,  somehow,  felt  in  a  laughing  mood,  and 
joined  in  as  well.  Then  they  began  to  talk  of 
all  sorts  of  things.  By  degrees  he  and  Eli  had 
most  of  the  conversation  to  themselves,  the 
father  putting  in  a  word  here  and  there.  But 
once,  after  Arne  had  been  speaking  at  some 
length,  he  chanced  to  look  up ;  his  eye  met 
Birgit's — the  mother's — eyes  ;  she  had  let  fall  her 
work,  and  sat  gazing  fixedly  at  him.  She  plied 
her  needle  again  at  once,  but  as  soon  as  he 
began  to  speak  again  she  looked  up. 

Bed-time  came,  and  they  all  went  to  their 
rooms.  Arne  particularly  wanted  to  note  what 
dream  he  would  have  the  first  night  in  a  new 
place ;  but  there  was  no  sense  in  it  at  all.    The 


AT    BOEN 

whole  day  he  had  talked  very  little,  or  not  at  all, 
with  the  master  of  the  house ;  yet  all  night  it 
was  only  of  him  that  he  dreamt.  Just  before 
waking,  it  seemed  to  him  that  Baard  was  sitting 
at  cards  with  Nils  Skraedder,  who  was  very 
angry  and  pale  ;  but  Baard  was  smiling,  and 
drawing  all  the  cards  over  to  his  side. 

Arne  was  there  for  several  days,  during  which 
there  was  almost  nothing  said,  but  a  great  deal 
done.  Not  only  the  family  in  the  parlour,  but 
the  servants,  the  labourers,  and  even  the  maids 
scarcely  spoke.  There  was  an  old  dog  in  the 
yard,  who  barked  whenever  a  stranger  ap- 
proached ;  but  no  one  in  the  place  ever  heard 
the  dog  baying  without  a  prompt  "  Lie  down, 
sir!"  at  which  the  old  hound  returned,  grumb- 
ling, to  his  kennel.  At  Kampen  there  was  a 
great  weathercock  on  the  roof,  that  turned  with 
every  breath  of  wind ;  here  at  Been  was  a  still 
larger  one,  which  attracted  Arne's  attention  at 
once,  because  it  never  moved.  When  the  wind 
drove  against  it,  it  tried  with  all  its  might  to  get 
free,  and  Arne  watched  it  so  long  that  at  last  he 
could  not  keep  himself  from  getting  up  on  the 
roof  and  loosening  it. 

129  I 


ARNE 

It  was  not  frozen  tight,  as  he  had  thought, 
but  a  peg  was  run  through  it  to  keep  it  from 
turning,  Arne  drew  it  out  and  threw  it  down ; 
it  struck  Baard,  who  happened  to  be  passing. 
He  looked  up,  with  a  "What  are  you  doing 
there  ? " 

"  Loosening  the  weathercock." 

"  Don't  do  that ;  it  squeaks  when  it  turns." 

"  That's  better,"  said  Arne,  as  he  sat  astride 
the  ridge  of  the  roof — "  that's  better  than  making 
no  sound  at  all." 

Baard  looked  up  at  Arne,  and  Arne  looked 
down  at  Baard  ;  then  Baard  smiled. 

"  He  that  can't  help  squeaking  when  he 
speaks,"  he  said,  "had  best  hold  his  tongue 
altogether,  I  should  think." 

Now  it  may  happen  that  a  remark  haunts  you 
long  after  it  has  been  made,  and  especially  when 
it  is  the  last  you  have  heard.  These  words  re- 
peated themselves  to  Arne  as  he  climbed  down 
in  the  cold  from  the  roof,  and  they  were  with 
him  still  when  he  came  into  the  parlour  that 
evening.  Eli  was  standing  by  the  window  in 
the  evening  twilight,  looking  out  over  the  ice 
that  lay  shining  in  the  rays  of  the  moon.  He 
J30 


AT    BOEN 

went  to  the  other  window,  and  looked  out  too. 
Inside,  all  was  comfortable  warmth  and  stillness; 
outside,  all  was  cold.  The  keen  night  wind, 
sweeping  through  the  valley,  was  shaking  the 
trees,  so  that  the  shadows  they  cast  in  the  moon- 
shine scrambled  and  crept  hither  and  thither 
across  the  snow.  From  the  parsonage  on  the 
other  side  shone  out  a  bright  light,  that  seemed 
to  keep  dilating  and  contracting,  and  to  take  all 
sorts  of  shapes  and  tints,  as  is  ever  the  case 
when  one  looks  over-long  at  a  bright  thing.  The 
mountain  towered  aloft,  black  and  haunted  of 
strange  shapes  within,  but  white  with  the  moon- 
light falHng  on  its  snows  without.  The  heavens 
were  thick-sown  with  stars,  a  northern  light  at 
the  far-off  boundary  just  glimmering  into  view 
but  not  spreading.  A  few  paces  from  the 
window,  by  the  water's  edge,  stood  the  trees, 
their  shadows  melting  into  one  another  ;  but  the 
great  ash  stood  alone  and  apart,  drawing  figures 
on  the  snow. 

All  was  still,  save  that  every  now  and  then 
came  the  sound  of  a  strident,  wailing  noise. 
"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Arne. 

"The  weathercock,"  answered  Eh,  adding,  in 
131 


ARNE 

a  lower  tone,  as  if  to   herself,  "it  must  have 
broken  loose." 

Till  then,  Arne  had  been  as  one  who  would 
have  talked,  but  could  not.     Now  he  spoke. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  tale  of  the  thrushes 
and  their  singing  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Of  course  ;  why,  it  was  you  who  told  it  us. 
It  was  a  beautiful  story." 

"  I  often  think,"  she  said,  in  so  soft  a  voice 
as  he  had  never  yet  heard,  he  thought — "  I  often 
think  there  is  something  singing  when  one  is 
quite  still." 

"That  is  the  good  in  one's  heart,"  said  he. 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  there  was  too  much 
in  that  answer,  and  both  were  silent  for  awhile. 

Drawing  on  the  pane  with  her  finger,  she 
asked  him : 

"  Have  you  been  making  any  new  songs 
lately  ?  " 

He  coloured  up,  but  she  could  not  see  that, 
so  she  went  on  questioning. 

"  How  do  you  set  about  making  a  song?  " 

"  Do  you  really  care  to  know  ?  " 

«« Yes— yes." 

132 


AT   BOEN 

"I  keep  hold  and  take  care  of  thoughts  that 
other  people  are  glad  to  let  go/'  he  answered 
evasively,  and  she  was  silent  again  for  awhile  ; 
for  she  was  trying  with  one  and  another  of  his 
songs,  if  she,  too,  had  had  the  thoughts,  but  let 
them  go. 

"  That  is  very  wonderful,"  she  said,  as  if  to 
herself,  and  began  to  draw  on  the  window-pane 
anew. 

"  I  made  a  song  the  first  time  I  saw  you," 
said  Arne. 

"  Where  was  that  ?  " 

*'  Down  by  the  parsonage  over  there,  that 
night  you  left  them.     I  saw  you  in  the  water." 

She  laughed,  stopped,  and  said  : 

"  Let  me  hear  the  song." 

Arne  had  never  before  done  such  a  thing,  yet 

now  he  trusted  himself  to  sing  the  song  to  her. 

"  Fair  Venevil  hastened,  with  light-tripping  feet, 
Her  lover  to  greet,"  etc. 

Eli  listened  with  great  attention,  and  stood 
still  for  some  minutes  after  the  song  was  ended. 
Then  at  last  she  cried  : 

"  Oh,  how  I  pity  poor  Venevil !  " 

"  It  always  seems  to  me  as  if  I  hadn't  written 
IJ3 


ARNE 

it  myself,"  said  Arne.  He  was  feeling  ashamed 
now  of  having  sung  his  own  verses  to  her ;  he 
could  not  make  out  how  it  was  he  had  come  to 
do  it.  He  stood  there  now,  thinking  of  the 
words.     Then  said  Eli : 

**  But  is  that  what's  to  happen  to  me,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no;  I  was  really  thinking  of  myself." 

"  Is  it  to  happen  to  you,  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  felt  so  at  that  time.  I 
feel  so  no  longer ;  I  used  to  be  so  melancholy 
at  that  time." 

"  That  is  strange,"  said  she ;  and  her  fingers 
were  busy  on  the  window  again. 

Next  morning,  when  Arne  came  in  to  dinner, 
he  went  straight  to  the  window.  Out  of  doors, 
the  world  was  grey  and  heavy ;  within,  warmth 
and  comfort.  On  the  window  was  written  by  a 
finger,  "  Arne,"  "  Arne,"  "  Arne  "  —  always 
"  Arne."  It  was  the  window  by  which  Eli  had 
been  standing  the  night  before. 

But  next  day  Eli  did  not  come  downstairs  ; 
she  was  poorly.  Indeed,  she  had  been  by  no 
means  well  of  late ;  she  said  so  herself,  and 
besides,  it  was  plain  to  see. 


>34 


CHAPTER  XI 

BETWEEN    LIFE    AND    DEATH 

Next  day  Arne  came  in  and  mentioned  what  he 
had  just  heard  on  the  farm — that  Mathilde,  the 
pastor's  daughter,  was  on  the  point  of  setting 
out  on  a  visit  to  town;  for  some  days,  she 
herself  thought,  but,  in  reality,  for  a  year  or 
two.  Eli,  who  had  heard  nothing  of  it  till  that 
moment,  fainted  away. 

Arne  had  never  seen  such  a  thing  before,  and 
was  very  frightened.  He  ran  for  the  servants, 
and  they  for  her  parents,  who  came  breathless 
to  the  room.  There  was  a  confusion  of  noises 
all  over  the  farm,  the  watch-dog  by  the  barn 
door  joining  in  with  his  deep  bark.  When 
Arne  came  in  again  somewhat  later,  he  found 
the  mother  was  on  her  knees  by  the  bed,  and 
the  father  was  supporting  his  sick  daughter's 
head.  The  maids  were  scurrying  to  and  fro  ; 
135 


ARNE 

one  was  running  for  water,  another  for  the 
cordial  drops  that  were  in  one  of  the  cupboards, 
and  a  third  was  loosening  the  girl's  bodice  round 
her  neck. 

"Ah!  God  save  and  help  us!"  said  the 
mother ;  "  it  was  too  idiotic  of  us  to  have  told 
her  nothing  about  it.  It  was  all  your  doing 
Baard.     God  save  and  help  you  !  " 

Baard  made  no  reply. 

*'  I  told  you  so  before,"  she  went  on ;  "  but 
nothing's  ever  done  as  I  want  it  here.  Ah ! 
God  help  you  !  you're  always  so  hard  about  her, 
Baard.  You  don't  understand  her  at  all.  You 
don't  know  what  it  means  to  love  any  one,  you 
don't." 

Still  Baard  was  silent. 

"  She's  not  like  others,  that  can  bear  sorrow, 
isn't  Eli ;  it  knocks  her  over  completely,  poor 
weak  little  thing!  especially  now,  too,  when 
she's  so  out  of  sorts.  Wake  up  again,  my  dear 
little  one,  and  we'll  always  be  kind  to  you ! 
Wake  up  again,  my  own  Eli,  and  don't  grieve 
us  so ! " 

Then  said  Baard : 

"You  either  keep  silence  too  much,  or  else 
136 


BETWEEN   tlFE   AND   DEATH 

you  talk  too  much ; "  and  he  looked  at  Arne, 
as  if  he  wished  him  not  to  listen,  but  to  go 
about  his  work.  But  as  the  maids  stayed  there, 
Ame  thought  he  too  might  stay,  so  he  only 
walked  across  to  the  window.  The  sick  girl 
had  now  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to  open 
her  eyes  and  see  those  about  her;  but  at  the 
same  instant  recollection  returned,  and  with  a 
cry  of  "  Mathilde  !  Mathilde  ! "  she  fell  into  a  fit 
of  weeping,  and  sobbed  so  that  it  was  pain  for 
one  to  be  in  the  room.  Her  mother  sought  to 
comfort  her,  while  her  father  stood  just  so  as  to 
be  seen  by  her ;  but  the  poor  girl  pushed  them 
both  away. 

"  Go,  go  !  "  she  cried.  "  Go  !  I  can't  bear 
you,  either  of  you  !  " 

"  Christ  Jesus  !  "  said  the  mother,  "  you  can't 
bear  your  own  parents  ?  " 

"  No  !  you're  cruel  to  me ;  and  you  take  from 
me  the  only  joy  I  have  !  " 

"  Eli,  Eli !  don't  say  such  awful  things,"  said 
her  mother,  sternly. 

"Yes,  mother,  yes  !  "  screamed  the  girl, 
hysterically ;  "  now  I  must  speak.  Yes,  mother  ! 
you  want  to  marry  me  to  that  horrid  man ;  and 
137 


ARNE 

I  won't  have  him.  You  shut  me  up  here,  where 
I'm  never  happy  unless  I  can  get  out.  And 
you've  taken  Mathilde  from  me  —  the  only 
person  I  love  and  care  for  in  the  whole  world. 
Oh  God !  what  will  become  of  me  when 
Mathilde's  no  longer  here  !  And  now,  now  too, 
when  there's  so  much  I  can't  bear  any  longer,  if 
I  don't  have  some  one  to  talk  with  ! " 

"  But  you  haven't  been  there  often  with  her 
lately,  you  know,"  said  Baard. 

"What  did  that  matter,  when  I  had  her 
across  there  in  the  window  ? "  answered  the 
poor  girl,  sobbing  like  a  little  child,  so  that  to 
Ame  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  never  heard  the 
sound  of  weeping  before. 

"  But  you  couldn't  see  her,"  said  Baard. 
•*I  could  see  the  house,"  she  retorted.    And 
her  mother   interrupted   vehemently,  looking  at 
him,  "  You   can't   understand  anything  of  that, 
you  ! "     So  Baard  said  no  more. 

"  Now  I  can  never  go  to  the  window ! "  said 
Eli.  "  I  used  to  go  to  it  every  morning  when 
I  got  up;  in  the  evening  I  sat  there  in  the 
moonlight;  and  I  went  there  always  when  I 
had  no  one  to  go  to.  Oh  Mathilde  I  Mathilde !  " 
138 


BETWEEN    LIFE    AND    DEATH 

She  writhed  on  her  bed,  and  began  to  sob 
convulsively  again.  Baard  sat  down  on  a  stool 
and  gazed  steadfastly  at  her. 

Eli  was  not  herself  again  so  soon  as  they  had 
perhaps  expected.  Towards  evening  they  began 
to  suspect  that  some  illness  was  upon  her  that 
had  probably  been  coming  on  for  some  time 
past;  and  Arne  was  called  in  to  help  to  take 
her  up  to  her  own  room.  She  was  quite  un- 
conscious, pallid,  and  motionless.  Her  mother 
sat  down  beside  her ;  her  father  stood  by  the 
bed,  looking  at  her ;  presently  he  rose  and  went 
down  to  his  work.  Arne  did  the  same ;  but 
that  evening  he  prayed  for  her,  and  he  prayed 
that  one  so  young  and  pretty  as  she  might  live 
happy  in  this  world,  with  no  one  to  take  her 
happiness  from  her. 

Next  day,  when  Arne  came  in,  the  father  and 
mother  were  sitting  together,  talking :  the  mother 
had  plainly  been  weeping.  Arne  asked  how  Eli 
was  going  on  ;  each  expected  the  other  to  speak, 
so  that  it  was  a  moment  or  two  before  he  was 
answered.  "  Very  sadly  indeed,"  said  the  father, 
at  last;  and  later  on  Arne  heard  that  Eli  had 
been  wandering  in  her  mind  all  night,  or/ as  the 
139 


ARNE 

father  put  it,  "saying  all  sorts  of  queer  things." 
Now  she  lay  in  a  torpid  state,  recognising  no 
one,  and  refusing  to  touch  food.  They  had  just 
been  debating  whether  to  call  a  doctor  or  not. 
When  they  rose  to  go  to  the  patient's  room,  and 
Arne  was  left  sitting  by  himself,  it  seemed  to 
him  as  if  life  and  death  were  struggling  in  the 
room  above  ;  but  he  must  sit  alone,  apart  from 
them. 

In  a  few  days,  however,  she  was  better. 
Once,  as  the  father  sat  by  her,  a  fancy  took 
her  to  have  Narrifas — the  bird  Mathilde  had 
given  her — by  the  bed.  Then  Baard  told  her 
what  was  too  true — that,  in  all  the  confusion 
and  worry  of  her  illness,  the  bird  had  been  for- 
gotten, and  was  dead.  The  mother  happened  to 
come  in  just  as  he  was  speaking. 

"  Oh,  God  help  me,  Baard  ! "  she  cried  from 
the  doorway,  "  you  cruel  creature,  to  tell  your 
sick  girl  such  a  thing  as  that.  Look,  she's 
fainting  away  again  !  Look !  God  forgive  you 
your  heartlessness ! '' 

Each  time  Eli  came  to  at  all  she  cried  for  her 
bird;  declared  passionately  she  could  never  be 
happy  with  Mathilde  again,  now  that  Narrifas 
140 


BETWEEN    LIFE   AND    DEATH 

was  dead  ;  begged  to  be  allowed  to  go  to  her, 
and  fell  into  a  swoon  again.  Baard  stood  by 
looking  at  her  till  it  was  loo  hard  to  bear  ;  then 
he  tried  to  help  soothe  her,  but  Birgit  pushed 
him  aside,  telling  him  to  let  the  poor  child  alone. 
So  Baard  stood  and  looked  at  both  for  a  long 
while,  then  he  straightened  his  hat  on  his  head 
with  both  hands,  turned,  and  left  the  room. 

The  pastor  and  his  wife  came  over  later  on, 
for  her  illness  gained  fresh  hold  upon  her  now, 
and  they  knew  not  whether  the  end  of  it  would 
be  life  or  death. 

Both  the  pastor  and  his  wife  gave  Baard  a 
bit  of  their  minds,  telling  him  he  was  too  hard 
in  his  treatment  of  his  child.  They  got  to  hear 
about  the  bird,  and  the  pastor  told  him  plainly 
that  his  conduct  had  been  horribly  unfeelingf. 
He  would  like,  he  said,  to  take  the  girl  back  to 
their  house  as  soon  as  she  was  better  and  able 
to  be  moved.  The  pastor's  wife,  indeed,  refused 
to  see  him  any  longer;  she  wept,  and  sat  by 
Eli's  bedside,  fetched  the  doctor,  received  his 
directions,  and  came  over  to  B6en  several  times 
a  day  to  see  that  they  were  carried  out.  Baard 
wandered  about  the  farm  from  one  place  to 
141 


ARNE 

another,  nearly  always  quite  alone  ;  often  stand- 
ing still  for  a  long  while,  and  then,  straightening 
his  hat  on  his  head  with  both  hands,  falling  to 
some  work  or  other. 

The  mother  no  longer  spoke  with  him  :  they 
scarcely  looked  at  one  another.  He  went  up  to 
the  sick  girl  several  times  a  day,  taking  off  his 
shoes  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  laying  down 
his  hat  outside  the  door  before  warily  opening 
it.  As  soon  as  he  came  in,  Birgit  turned  as  it 
she  had  not  seen  him,  then  leant  her  head  on 
her  hand  again,  and  looked  straight  before  her 
at  the  patient,  who  lay  there  pale  and  motionless, 
unaware  of  anything  that  was  going  on  around 
her.  Baard  generally  stood  for  a  moment  or 
two  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  looked  at  both  of 
them,  and  saying  nothing.  Whenever  Eli 
moved,  as  if  about  to  wake,  he  glided  away  from 
the  spot  as  silently  as  he  had  entered. 

Often  Arne  thought  that  now  had  been  said 
certain  things  between  man  and  wife,  as  also 
between  parents  and  child,  which  long  had  been 
stored  up  in  secret  among  them,  and  would  not 
now  be  soon  put  out  of  mind  again.  He  longed 
to  be  gone,  though  he  was  all  eagerness  to  know 
14a 


BETWEEN    LIFE   AND    DEATH 

first  how  it  was  to  turn  out  with  Eli.  But  that 
he  could  always  keep  himself  informed  of,  after 
all,  thought  he  ;  so  he  went  to  Baard  and  said 
that  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  home  again :  the 
work  he  had  come  for  was  done.  Baard  was 
sitting  on  the  timber-chopping  block  in  the  yard 
when  Arne  came  to  him  and  told  him  ;  he  was 
bending  forward,  digging  in  the  snow  with  a 
wooden  peg.  Arne  recognised  the  peg :  it  was 
the  same  that  had  held  tight  the  weathercock. 
Baard  did  not  look  up  as  he  answered,  "  It's  not 
pleasant,  I  know,  to  be  here  now ;  but  still,  I 
shouldn't  like  you  to  go."  And  he  said  no 
more,  and  neither  did  Arne.  He  waited  a 
moment,  then  went  and  got  something  to  do,  as 
if  it  was  settled  that  he  was  to  remain. 

Later  in  the  day,  when  Arne  was  called  in  to 
dinner,  he  found  Baard  still  sitting  on  the  wood- 
block. Then  Arne  went  up  to  him,  and  asked 
how  Eli  was  that  day. 

*'  Bad,  bad,  I'm  sure,  to-day,"  answered  Baard, 
**  I  see  her  mother's  been  weeping." 

It  seemed  to  Arne  as  if  some  one  had  invited 
him  to  sit  down,  and  he  placed  himself  on  a  bit 
of  a  felled  tree,  exactly  opposite  Baard* 

m 


ARNE 

"  I've  been  thinking  a  good  deal  about  your 
father  the  last  few  days,"  said  Baard,  so 
unexpectedly  that  Arne  could  make  no  reply. 
"  You  know,  of  course,"  he  went  on,  "  what 
there  was  between  us  ?  " 

"  I  know." 

"Ah,  but  you  only  know  one  side  of  the 
matter,  of  course,  and  so  you  lay  all  the  blame 
on  me." 

"  You  have  surely  made  your  account  for  it," 
said  Arne,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "  with 
your  God,  just  as  certainly  as  my  father  has  now 
done." 

"  Ah,  well !  that  must  be  as  it  may,"  answered 
Baard.  "When  I  found  this  peg  though,  it 
seemed  so  strange  that  you,  of  all  men,  should 
have  come  here  and  loosed  the  weathercock.  But 
it's  just  as  well,  first  as  last,  thought  I."  He  had 
taken  off  his  hat,  and  now  he  sat  there  looking 
at  it. 

Arne  did  not  yet  perceive  that  Baard  meant 
that  he  wanted  to  talk  to  him  of  his  father  now ; 
nay,  he  did  not  even  realise  it  when  he  began 
on  the  subject,  for  it  seem.ed  so  unlike  Baard. 
But  now  he  gradually  remarked,  during  the  pro- 
M4 


BETWEEN    LIFE   AND    DEATH 

gress  of  Baard's  talk  what  had  been  going  on 
in  his  heart;  and  if  he  had  felt  any  respect 
before  for  this  ponderous  but  thoroughly  worthy 
man,  be  sure  it  was  none  the  less  after  that. 

"  I  was  about  fourteen,"  said  Baard ;  and  he 
paused  here,  as  he  did  every  now  and  then 
throughout  his  whole  narrative.  Then  he  said 
a  few  more  words  and  paused  again,  so  that 
every  word  of  his  story  gave  one  the  impression 
of  being  well  weighed:  "I  was  about  fourteen 
when  I  first  got  to  know  your  father,  who  was 

about     the    same     age He    was    very 

spirited,  and  would  own  no  one  over  him,  and 
that  was  why  he  never  could  forget  that  I  was 
number  one  at  confirmation,  and  he  was  number 

two He  often    challenged   me   to    settle 

which  was  best  man,  but  somehow  it  never  came 
to  anything ;  most  likely  because  neither  of  us 
was  quite  confident  of  winning.  .  .  .  But  it's  a 
funny  thing,  that  he  had  quarrels  and  fights 
every  day,  and  nothing  came  of  it,  while  the  one 
me  I  was  drawn  in  it  turned  out  as  badly  as  it 
could;  but  it's  true  I  had  waited  a  long  time. 
....  Nils  ran  after  all  the  girls,  and  they  after 
him.  There  was  only  one  I  cared  about,  but 
MS  K 


ARNE 

her  he  took  from  me  at  every  dance,  every  wed- 
ding, every  party  ;   it  was  she  to  whom  now  I 

am  married Often,  as  I  sat  by,  I  longed 

to  try  my  strength  with  him,  just  for  that ;  but 
I  was  afraid  that  I  might  lose,  and  I  knew  that 
then  I  should  lose  her  too.  When  all  the  people 
had  gone  away,  I  used  to  lift  the  weights  he  had 
lifted,  and  take  the  leaps  he  had  leapt ;  but  all 
the  same,  next  time  that  he  danced  off  with  the 
girl  before  my  eyes,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to 
set  everything  on  a  throw  with  him  ;  though  once, 
as  he  stood  fooling  with  her  before  my  face,  I 
took  a  full-grown  man  and  laid  him  across  the 
beam  above,  as  if  just  for  fun.  That  made  Nils 
turn  a  bit  pale 

"  Buf  if  he  had  only  behaved  well  to  her !  But 
he  was  deceiving  her,  and  that  night  after  night. 
I  really  believe  she  liked  him  the   better  for  it 

each  time So  it  came  about  that  the  end 

drew  near.  I  would  not  have  him  going  on  like 
that  any  longer,  and  it  was  thus  that  he  fell  a  bit 

heavier  than  I  meant   him   to I  never 

saw  him  again." 

They  sat  a  long  while  silent.    At  length  Baard 

went  on : 

146 


BETWEEN    LIFE    AND    DEATH 

"  I  began  to  court  her  again.  She  gave  me 
neither  yea  nor  nay,  but  I  thought  we  should 
get  on  better  together  by-and-by.  We  got 
married ;  our  wedding  took  place  down  in  the 
valley  there,  at  her  aunt's,  who  made  her  her 
heiress.  We  began  with  much,  and  that's  since 
grown  to  more.  Our  farms  had  lain  side  by  side, 
and  now  they  were  thrown  into  one — a  thing 
I  had  longed  to  have  done  ever  since  my  boy- 
hood  But  many  other  things  were  not 

as  I  had  longed  to  have  them."  He  broke  off, 
and  sat  silent  awhile.  Arne  thought  for  a 
moment  that  he  was  weeping,  but  that  was  not 
so ;  yet  his  voice  was  gentler  than  usual  when 
he  went  on  :  "At  first  she  was  very  quiet  and 
melancholy.  I  had  nothing  to  say  to  console 
her,  so  I  was  silent  too.  A  bit  later  on  she 
began  gradually  to  take  up  with  those  bustling, 
domineering  ways  you've  no  doubt  noticed.  At 
any  rate,  that's  some  alteration,  thought  I ;  so  I 

said  nothing  now  either But  one  day  of 

real  happiness  I've  not  had  since  I  was  married, 
and  that  I've  been  twenty  years  now."     .... 

At  this,  he  broke  the  wooden  p)eg  in  two,  and 
sat  looking  at  the  pieces  awhile. 
147 


ARNE 

"  When  Eli  began  to  grow  up,  I  thought  it  would 
be  happier  for  her  to  be  with  strangers  than  with 
us.  It's  not  often  I've  wanted  my  way  in  any- 
thing, but  when  I  have  it's  mostly  turned  out  all 
wrong — as  it  did  in  this  instance.  The  mother 
sat  longing  for  her  child,  though  there  was  only 
that  bit  of  water  between  them  ;  and  at  last,  too, 
I  began  to  suspect  that  it  wasn't  the  best  place 
in  the  world  for  her  to  be,  for  the  parsonage 
people  are  a  set  of  most  kind-hearted  noodles ; 
but  I  was  too  late  with  my  wisdom.  She  cares 
now  for  neither  father  nor  mother." 

He  had  taken  off  his  hat  again,  and  his  long 
hair  was  hanging  down  over  his  eyes.  He 
pushed  it  aside,  and  set  on  his  hat  with  both 
hands,  as  if  to  go;  but,  turning  towards  the 
house  to  rise,  he  paused  again,  and  added,  look- 
ing up  at  the  attic  window  : 

"I  thought  it  would  be  better  for  Mathilde 
and  her  not  to  say  farewell  to  one  another ;  but 
that  was  foolish  too.  I  told  her  the  poor  little  bird 
was  dead,  because  that  was  my  fault,  so  it  seemed 
to  me  I  ought  to  tell  her ;  but  I  was  wrong  there 
too.  And  so  it  is  in  everything ;  all  I  have  done 
was  always  meant  for  the  best,  but  it's  always 
148 


BETWEEN    LIFE    AND    DEATH 

turned  out  for  the  worst,  and  now  it's  come  so 
far  that  they're  both  speaking  ill  of  me — wife  and 
daughter;  and  here  am  I,  wandering  about 
alone." 

A  maid  called  to  them  that  the  meat  was 
getting  cold.  Baard  got  up.  "  I  hear  the  horses 
whinnying,"  said  he ;  "  they  have  been  forgotten, 
I  expect ; "  and  he  went  off  to  the  stables  to 
give  them  some  hay. 


149 


CHAPTER  XII 

arne's  song 

Eli  was  very  weak  after  her  relapse.  Her 
mother  sat  over  her  day  and  night,  and  was 
never  to  be  seen  downstairs ;  her  father  went  up 
to  pay  his  accustomed  visits  in  his  stocking-feet, 
always  leaving  his  hat  outside  the  door.  Arne 
was  still  at  the  farm  ;  he  and  Baard  sat  together 
in  the  evenings,  and  he  had  grown  very  fond  of 
him.  Baard  was  a  well-informed  and  very 
thoughtful  man,  but  inclined  to  be  somewhat 
afraid  of  what  he  knew ;  but  now,  when  Arne 
encouraged,  and  told  him  of  things  that  he  did 
not  know  before,  Baard  was  very  grateful. 

Eli  was  soon  able  to  sit  up  at  times ;  and 
after  each  attempt,  as  she  got  on  better,  she  grew 
more  and  more  full  of  whims.  Thus  it  happened 
that  one  evening,  as  Arne  sat  in  the  room  below 
hers,  singing  aloud,  the  mother  came  down  and 
150 


arne's  song 

asked  him,  in  Eli's  name,  to  go  up  to  her  and 
sing,  so  that  she  could  hear  the  words.  Arne 
must  surely  have  been  sitting  there  singing  for 
Eli  as  it  was,  for  when  Birgit  spoke  he  turned 
red,  and  got  up  as  if  to  deny  that  he  had  done 
so,  though  no  one  had  said  he  had.  However, 
he  pulled  himself  up  and  said — trying  to  refuse 
— that  he  was  scarcely  able  to  sing  at  all.  But 
he  was  answered  by  the  mother  that  that  did  not 
seem  to  be  so  when  he  sat  alone. 

Arne  gave  in  and  went.  He  had  not  seen  El 
since  the  day  he  helped  to  carry  her  up ;  he  felt 
that  she  must  now  be  much  changed,  and  that 
gave  him  a  feeling  of  dread.  But  when  he  softly 
opened  the  door,  and  entered,  there  was  such 
deep  darkness  that  he  saw  no  one.  He  paused 
by  the  door. 

"  Who  is  that  ? "  asked  Eli,  in  a  clear,  low 
tone. 

"Arne  Kampen,"  answered  he,  gently,  trying 
to  keep  his  voice  from  jarring  on  her  nerves. 

"It  was  good  of  you  to  come." 

"  How  are  you  now,  Eli  ?  " 

"  Thanks  ;  now  I  am  getting  better." 
You  must  sit  down,  Arne,"  she  said,  after  a 
151 


ARNE 

pause ;  and  Arne  felt  his  way  to  a  chair  that 
stood  by  the  foot  of  the  bed.  "It  was  so  nice 
to  hear  you  singing,  that  you  must  sing  a  Httle 
to  me  up  here." 

"  If  I  only  knew  what  to  sing  1  " 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then, "  Sing 
a  hymn,"  said  the  girl.  And  he  did  so,  singing 
a  bit  of  a  confirmation  hymn.  As  he  finished, 
he  heard  her  weeping,  and  did  not  dare  to  sing 
any  more ;  but  presently  she  said,  "  Sing 
another,"  and  he  sang  one  that  is  often  heard 
in  church. 

"  How  many  things  I  have  thought  of  while 
I've  been  lying  here  ! "  said  Eli,  when  he  had 
finished. 

He  knew  not  what  to  answer,  and  he  heard 
her  weeping  again  to  herself  in  the  darkness. 
A  clock,  which  was  ticking  away  on  the  wall, 
gathered  itself  up  for  a  blow,  and  struck  out  the 
hour. 

Eli  slowly  drew  breath  once  or  twice,  as  if 
trying  to  lighten  a  load  on  her  breast,  and 
said : 

"  One  knows  so  little ;  one  can't  even  get  to 
know  one's  own  father  or  mother.  I  have  not 
152 


been  good  to  them,  and  that's  why  it  makes  me 
feel  so  strange  now  to  hear  the  confirmation 
hymn." 

When  people  talk  in  the  dark,  they  are  likely 
to  be  more  truthful  than  when  they  see  one 
another's  faces,  and  to  speak  more  freely  too. 

"  It  makes  me  happy  to  hear  you  say  that," 
answered  Arne.  He  was  thinking  of  what  she 
had  said  when  she  fell  ill. 

She  understood  what  was  in  his  heart,  and 
added  : 

"  Had  not  that  happened  to  me,  God  knows 
how  long  I  might  have  been  without  having 
found  mother." 

"  Has  she  spoken  freely  with  you,  then  ?  " 

"  Every  day  ;  she  has  done  nothing  else." 

"  Then  you  must  have  heard  much  from  her  ?  " 

"  You  may  well  say  so." 

".  .  .  .  She  talked  to  you  about  my  father, 
I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

•'  Does  she  still  think  of  him  ?  " 

"She  still  thinks  of  him." 

"  He  did  not  treat  her  well." 

"  Poor  mother  !  " 

«53 


ARNE 

"  He  treated  himself  far  worse,  though." 

But  there  was  something  in  the  heart  of  each 
that  neither  would  tell  the  other.  It  was  Eli  who 
first  spoke  again : 

"  You  are  said  to  be  like  your  father." 

"They  say  so,"  he  answered,  uneasily. 

She  did  not  notice  his  tone,  so  she  returned 
to  the  subject  again. 

"  Could  he,  too,  make  songs  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Sing  me  a  song — one  that  you  have  made 
yourself," 

But  it  was  not  Arne's  habit  to  admit  that  any 
song  he  sang  was  his  own. 

**I  have  none,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  will  find  one,  and  you'll  sing  it,  too, 
won't  you,  if  I  ask?  " 

And  he  did  for  her  now  what  he  never  had 
done  for  any  one  else.  This  was  the  song  he 
sang : 

•'  Green  stood  the  Tree,  with  its  leaves  tender-bright. 
'  Shall  I  take  them  ? '  said  Frost,  as  he  breathed  through 
the  night. 

'  Oh  !  pray  let  them  be 
Till  my  blossoms  you  see  ! ' 
Begged  the  Tree,  as  she  shivered  and  shook  in  affright. 

154 


ARNE  S   SONG 

"Sweet  sang  the  birds  the  fair  blossoms  among. 
'  Shall  I  take  them  ?  '  said  Wind,  as  he  swayed  them  and 
swung, 

•  Oh !  pray  let  them  be, 
Till  my  berries  you  see  ! ' 
Begged  the  Tree,  as  its  branches  all  quivering  hung. 

"  Bright  grew  the  berries  beneath  the  sun's  heat. 
'  Shall  I  take  them  ? '  said  Lassie,  so  young  and  so  sweet. 
'  Ah  !  take  them,  I  crave, 
Take  all  that  I  have  ! ' 
Begged  the  Tree,  as  it  bent  its  full  boughs  to  her  feet." 

The  song  seemed  well  nigh  to  take  her  breath 
away.  He,  too,  sat  there  when  it  was  ended, 
as  if  he  had  said  more  in  his  song  than  he  had 
wanted. 

Darkness  lies  heavy  upon  those  who  sit 
together  in  it,  but  do  not  talk ;  they  are  never 
nearer  together  than  then.  He  heard  it  if  she 
but  turned,  or  merely  drew  her  hand  across  the 
coverlet ;  he  heard  her,  if  she  so  much  as  breathed 
a  little  deeper  than  usual. 

"Arne,  couldn't  you  teach  me  to  make 
songs  ?  " 

"  Have  you  never  tried  ?  " 

"  Yes,  lately,  but  I  can't  get  on." 

"  What  have  you  tried  to  make  your  songs 
about  ? " 

155 


ARNE 

"About  mother,  and  all  her  love  for  your 
father." 

"That's  a  difficult  subject." 

"  I've  cried  over  it  so,  too." 

"  You  must  not  seek  for  subjects  ;  they  come." 

"  How  do  they  come  ?  " 

"Like  other  precious  things — when  one  least 
expects  them." 

Both  were  silent  awhile. 

"  I  wonder,  Arne,"  she  said,  at  length,  "  that 
you,  who  have  so  much  that  is  beautiful  within 
yourself,  should  want  to  go  away." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  want  to  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  lay  silent  as  if  in 
thought. 

"  Arne,  you  must  not  go  away !  "  she  said,  and 
it  set  his  blood  aflame. 

"There  are  times  when  I  seem  not  to  want 
to  so  much,"  he  said. 

"  Your  mother  must  be  very  fond  of  you.  I 
must  get  to  know  your  mother." 

"  Come   over  to   Kampen    when   you're   well 

again,"  said  he.     And  at  the  words  he  seemed 

to  see  her  sitting  in  the  bright  room  at  Kampen, 

looking  out  at  the  mountains.     His  heart  began 

IS6 


ARNE  S    SONG 

to  beat  fast,  and  his  blood  to  rush  to  his  head. 
"  It's  very  warm  in  here,"  said  he,  and  he  rose,  as 
if  to  go. 

She  heard  his  movement. 

"  Are  you  going,  Arne  ? "  said  she,  and  he 
sat  down  again.  "  You  must  come  here  oftener 
now.     Mother's  taken  such  a  liking  to  you." 

"  I  should  like  to  come,  too  ....  but  I  must 
have  something  to  come  for." 

Eli  was  silent  for  a  while  as  if  she  were 
reflecting. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  mother  has  something 
she  will  ask  you  about." 

He  heard  her  raising  herself  up  in  bed.  No 
sound  was  there  in  the  room  or  below,  save  the 
clock  ticking  on  the  wall.  Suddenly  she  broke 
out: 

"  Would  to  God  summer  were  here ! " 

"  Summer  I " — and  at  the  word  rose  up  before 
him  fragrant  leaves,  and  the  tinkle  of  cattle- 
bells,  merry  sounds  from  the  hills,  and  songi 
from  the  valleys,  the  black  water  glittering  in 
the  sun,  and  the  homesteads  reflected  in  its 
ripples.  Eli  came  out,  and  was  sitting  down  just 
as  she  had  done  that  summer  evening  long  ago. 
157 


ARNE 

"  If  summer  were  here,"  said  she,  "  if  I  could 
sit  on  the  hill,  I  certainly  believe  I  should  be 
able  to  sing  a  song  of  my  own." 

He  laughed,  and  asked,  "What  would  it  be 
about?" 

"  About  something  that  would  be  easy  enough 
— about — about — I  don't  know  ! " 

"  Tell  me,  Eli ! "  and  he  rose  joyously ;  but  a 
thought  struck  him,  and  he  sat  down  again. 

"  Not  you,  for  all  the  world  ! "  And  she  laughed. 

"  I  sang  to  you  when  you  asked  me." 

"That's  true — but  no,  no,  no  !  '*', 

"  Eli,  do  you  think  I'd  make  fun  of  the  little 
verses  you've  made  ?  " 

"No,  that  I  don't  Arne;  but  it's  not  any- 
thing I've  made  myself." 

"  Is  it  anybody  else's,  then  ?  " 

**  Yes ;  it  came  of  itself  to  me,  so  to  speak." 

"  Well,  then,  surely  you  can  tell  it  me." 

"  No,  no ;  it's  not  anything  of  that  sort  eithei 
Arne.     Don't  ask  me  any  more." 

She  was  certainly  hiding  her  head  in  the  bcd^ 
for  the  last  words  were  scarcely  audible. 

"  Well,  Eli,  you're  not  as  kind  to  me  as  I've 
been  to  you  ! "  and  he  rose. 
158 


arne's  song 

"Arne,  it's  different — you  don't  understand 
me — but  it  was — I  don't  know — some  other 
time — don't  be  cross  with  me,  Arne  I  Don't  go 
away ! "    And  she  began  to  cry. 

"  Eli,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  and  he 
listened.  "Are  you  ill?"  he  asked,  but  he  did 
not  think  she  was. 

She  was  still  weeping,  and  he  felt  that  now 
he  must  move — either  forward  or  back. 

"Eli!" 

"  Yes  I " — both  voices  in  a  whisper. 

"  Give  me  your  hand." 

She  made  no  answer.  He  listened,  quickly, 
closely — stretched  out  his  own  hand  over  the 
coverlet,  and  grasped  a  warm  little  hand  that 
lay  bare. 

There  was  a  step  on  the  stairs,  and  they  let 
go  of  one  another. 

It  was  Birgit,  coming  in  with  a  light.  "  You've 
been  sitting  too  long  in  the  dark,"  said  she,  and 
put  the  candle  on  the  table.  But  neither  Eli 
nor  he  could  bear  the  light ;  she  turned  her  face 
to  the  pillow,  and  he  held  his  hand  before  his 
eyes.  "Ah,  yes ;  it's  a  bit  dazzling  at  first,"  said 
the  mother;  "but  the  feeling  soon  passes  away." 
»59 


ARNE 

Arne  groped  about  on  the  floor  for  his  hat — 
which  he  had  never  brought  in  with  him — ^and 
so  left  the  room. 

Next  day  he  heard  that  Eli  was  going  to  come 
down  for  awhile  after  dinner.  He  put  his  tools 
together,  and  bade  farewell  to  the  farm.  When 
she  came  down  he  was  gone. 


i6o 


CHAPTER  XIII 

margit's  confession 

Spring  comes  late  among  the  mountains.  The 
post  that  speeds  along  the.  highway  three  times 
a  week  in  winter  comes  only  once  in  April,  and 
the  mountain-dwellers  begin  to  feel  that  now  the 
snow  has  begun  to  melt  in  the  world  without, 
the  ice  is  breaking,  the  steamers  are  travelling  to 
and  fro  again,  and  the  harrow  is  breaking  the 
soil  once  more.  With  them,  the  snow  still  lies 
three  ells  high,  the  cattle  are  still  lowing  from 
their  stalls,  and  the  birds  that  come  back  hide 
themselves  shivering.  The  chance  traveller  tells 
them  that  he  has  left  his  carriole  down  in  the 
valley  below,  and  shows  them  flowers  that  he 
has  plucked  by  the  roadside.  Then  the  moun- 
taineers begin  to  be  filled  with  longings  as  they 
go  about  talking  to  one  another,  looking  at  the 
sun,  and  discussing  how  much  higher  in  the  sky 

l6l  L 


ARNE 

it  gets  daily.  They  strew  ashes  on  the  slippery 
snow,  and  their  thoughts  wander  to  those  who 
now  are  plucking  flowers. 

At  such  a  season  was  it  that  old  Margit 
Kampen  came  up  to  the  parsonage,  and  asked  to 
be  allowed  to  speak  to  the  pastor.  She  was 
taken  into  his  study,  where  the  minister,  a 
slimly  built,  fair-haired,  kind-looking  man,  with 
large  eyes  shadowed  by  spectacles,  received  her 
friendlily  (for  he  knew  her),  and  bade  her  sit 
down. 

"Anything  fresh  about  Arne?"  he  asked, 
as  if  they  had  often  spoken  together  on  that 
subject, 

"  Ah,  God  help  me  !  "  said  Margit ;  "  there's 
never  anything  but  good  that  I  have  to  say  of 
him  ;  and  yet  it's  so  hard."  And  she  looked  very 
sad  as  she  spoke. 

"  Has  his  old  longing  come  back  again  ? " 
asked  the  pastor. 

"  Worse  than  ever,"  said  the  mother.  "  I 
don't  believe  that  he'll  stay  with  me  now  even 
ill  spring's  here." 

"  But  he  promised  never  to  leave  you." 

*'  That  he  did.  But,  good  Lord  !  he  must  act 
162 


for  himself  now.  If  his  mind's  set  on  it,  he 
can't  well  help  himself.  But  what's  to  become 
of  me?" 

"  All  the  same,  I  don't  really  believe  he'll  ever 
forsake  you,"  said  the  pastor. 

"  No ;  but  suppose  he  can't  be  happy  at  home  ? 
Dare  I  have  it  on  my  conscience  that  I'm  in  his 
way?  There  are  times  when  I  think  I  ought 
to  beg  him  to  go." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  wants  to  go  now 
more  than  before  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  by  many  things.  Since  the  middle  of 
winter  he  hasn't  worked  anywhere  in  the  parish 
for  a  single  day.  On  the  other  hand,  he's  made 
three  trips  to  the  town,  and  each  time  been  a 
long  while  there.  He  scarcely  ever  speaks  now 
at  his  work,  though  that's  often  been  his  habit 
He  sits  for  a  long,  long  while  by  himself  in  the 
little  garret  window,  looking  out  towards  the 
mountains  and  the  ravine.  He  sits  there  all 
Sunday  afternoons ;  and  often,  when  there's 
moonlight,  he'll  sit  there  till  far  past  midnight." 

"  Does  he  never  read  aloud  to  you  ?  " 

"  Every  Sunday,  as  usual,  of  course,  he  reads 
and  sings  to  me ;  but  he  seems  to  hurry  over  it, 
163 


ARNE 

except  now  and  again,  when  he  makes  almost 
too  much  of  it." 

"  Does  he  ever  talk  to  you  ?  " 

"  Often  not  for  so  long  at  a  time  that  I  can't 
help  crying  to  m.yself ;  then  he  notices  that,  and 
begins  to  talk  ;  but  only  of  little  things,  never 
of  serious  ones." 

The  pastor  paced  up  and  down,  paused,  and 
asked : 

"Why  donh  you  talk  to  him  of  them,  then  ?" 

It  was  long  before  she  answered.  She 
gave  two  or  three  sighs  ;  she  looked  on  the 
ground  and  aside ;  she  folded  her  kerchief  and 
unfolded  it. 

"  I've  come  here  to-day,"  she  said,  at  last, 
"  to  talk  with  you,  sir,  about  something  that's 
heavy  on  my  heart." 

"  Speak  freely  ;  that  will  lighten  it." 

"  I  trust  it  will ;  for  I  have  now  crept  under 
the  burden  for  many  and  many  a  year,  and  each 
year  it  grows  heavier  and  heavier." 

"  What  is  it  then  my  poor  woman  ?  " 

There  was  still  some  hesitation  before  she  spoke. 

"  I   have  committed  a  great   sin   against  my 
son,"  and  she  began  to  weep. 
164 


margit's  confession 

The  pastor  went  up  close  to  her.  "  Confess 
it  to  me,  then,  and  let  us  pray  God  together  to 
forgive  it  you." 

Margit  sobbed,  and  dried  her  tears,  and  began 
to  weep  again  as  soon  as  she  tried  to  speak,  and 
thus  she  went  on  for  some  time.  The  pastor 
endeavoured  to  comfort  her.  "  It  certainly 
couldn't  be  such  a  dreadful  thing  that  she  had 
done,"  he  said  ;  "  she  was  too  severe  to  herself," 
and  so  forth.  But  Margit  went  on  weeping, 
and  could  not  make  a  beginning  of  her  story  till 
the  pastor  sat  down  by  her  side  and  began  to 
question  her  kindly.  Then  it  came  out,  bit  by 
bit.  "  He  had  such  a  hard  time,"  she  said, 
"when  he  was  a  boy,  and  that  made  him  long 
to  travel.  Well,  he  met  Kristen — that  Kristen 
who's  now  such  a  great  man  out  there  where 
they  dig  up  gold  ;  and  Kristen  gave  Arne  so 
many  books  that  he  was  no  longer  the  same  as 
we  peasant  folk.  The  two  sat  together  night 
after  night,  and  when  Kristen  went  off,  Arne 
wanted  to  go  too.  But  at  that  time,"  she  went 
on,  "his  father  died  so  terribly,  and  my  boy 
promised  never  to  leave  me.  But  I  was  like  a 
hen  that  had  hatched  a  duck's  egg.  When 
'6s 


ARNE 

the  little  one  grew  up  a  bit,  he  wanted  to  go  out 
on  the  great  water,  and  I  went  about  everywhere 
crying.  If  he  didn't  actually  go  himself,  his 
songs  were  always  of  travel,  so  that  I  expected 
every  morning  to  find  his  bed  empty. 

"  Then  it  was  that  there  came  for  him  a  letter 
from  a  long,  long  way  off;  and  this  must  be  (I 
knew)  from  Kristen.  God  forgive  me  !  I  took 
and  hid  it.  I  thought  that  was  the  end  of  it ; 
but  presently  came  another,  and,  as  I  had  hidden 
the  first,  I  had  to  do  the  same  with  this  one  too. 
But  it  was  as  if  they  were  burning  a  hole  in  the 
box  where  I  put  them,  for  I  could  think  of 
nothing  but  that  from  the  moment  I  opened  my 
eyes  to  the  time  I  went  to  bed.  And,  just 
imagine  what  was  worst  of  all — there  came  a 
third  letter !  I  stood  with  it  in  my  hand  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour;  I  carried  it  about  with  me 
in  my  dress  for  three  days,  weighing  with  myself 
whether  to  give  it  to  him  or  put  it  away  with  the 
other  two ;  but,  perhaps  (thought  I)  it  might 
have  the  power  to  entice  away  my  boy  from  me, 
and  so  I  could  not  help  putting  it  with  the  rest. 
Now  I  went  in  fear  the  whole  day  long;  not 
only  because  of  those  in  the  box,  but  also  oi 
166 


MARGITS    CONFESSION 

anything  new  coming.  I  was  afraid  of  every 
person  who  came  near  the  farm;  and  when  we 
were  both  indoors  and  there  came  a  rap,  I 
trembled  all  over ;  it  might  be  a  letter,  and  then 
he  would  take  it  in  himself.  When  he  was  away 
in  the  village,  I  kept  pacing  about  the  farm, 
thinking,  *  Now  perhaps  he's  been  given  a  letter 
out  there,  and  has  found  out  from  it  about  the 
others  that  have  come  ! '  When  he  came  back, 
I  looked  at  his  face  as  he  was  still  far  off,  and  if 
he  smiled — good  God  !  how  glad  I  was,  for  by 
that  I  knew  he  had  heard  nothing !  He  had 
grown  so  handsome  now,  too  —  iust  like  his 
father,  but  fairer  and  gentler.  And  then  he  had 
such  a  beautiful  voice  for  singing !  When  he 
sat  on  the  threshold  in  the  evening,  singing  up 
at  the  mountains  above,  and  listening  for  the 
echo,  then  I  knew  that  I  could  never  bear  to 
lose  him  !  If  I  only  saw  him,  if  I  only  knew 
that  he  was  anywhere  near,  if  he  merely  seemed 
happy,  and  gave  me  a  nod  now  and  again,  then 
I  felt  there  was  nothing  more  I  wanted  here  on 
earth,  and  I  would  not  have  had  any  of  my  tears 
unwept. 

"  But    just    as    it    seemed    he    was    getting 
167 


ARNE 

happier,  and  to  like  being  among  people  more 
than  he  used  to,  there  came  a  message  one  day 
from  the  post-office  that  now  a  fourth  letter  had 
come,  and  in  it  two  hundred  dollars !  I  thought 
I  should  have  sunk  to  the  ground  as  I  stood 
there;  what  was  I  to  do  now?  This  letter,  of 
course,  I  could  put  out  of  the  way  as  before — 
but  the  money  ?  I  got  no  sleep  for  many  a 
night  for  that  money.  I  put  it  at  one  time  in 
the  garret,  at  one  time  in  the  cellar  behind  a 
cask,  and  once  I  was  so  desperate  that  I  put  it 
in  the  window,  for  him  to  find;  but  when  I 
heard  him  coming,  I  took  it  away  again.  At 
last  I  hit  on  a  plan ;  I  gave  him  the  money,  and 
told  him  it  was  some  that  had  been  owing  since 
my  mother's  death.  He  buried  it  in  the  ground 
— a  thing  I  had  myself  thought  of;  and  there 
it  rested.  But  as  luck  would  have  it,  that  very 
autumn,  as  he  sat  there  one  evening,  he  kept 
saying  he  wondered  that  Kristen  should  have 
forgotten  him  so  completely. 

"  That  made  my  wound  break  out  again,  and 
the  money  burnt;  it  was  sin  that  I  had  done, 
and  sin  to  no  purpose  ! 

"The  mother  who  has  sinned  against  her 
i68 


margit's  confession 

child  is  the  unhappiest  of  all  mothers  ;  and  yet 
I  had  only  done  it  from  love  of  him.  So  it  is 
that  I  am  surely  to  be  punished  by  losing  ray 
dearest.  Ever  since  midwinter  now,  he's  been 
singing  the  tune  he  always  sings  when  the  long* 
ing  to  go  seizes  upon  him ;  'tis  the  song  he  hag 
sung  from  his  boyhood,  and  I  never  hear  it 
without  turning  pale.  It's  then  that  I  feel  I 
could  do  anything.  And  here  you  shall  see," 
she  said,  drawing  forth  a  paper  from  her  bodice, 
unfolding  it,  and  giving  it  to  the  pastor ;  "  here  is 
something  he  writes  at,  every  now  and  again ; 
it  is  words  that  go  to  that  tune.  I  brought  it 
with  me,  because  I  can't  read  such  fine  writing. 
Will  you  please  see  if  there's  anything  in  it 
about  going  away  ?  " 

There  was   only  one   complete  verse  on   the 
paper.     Here  and  there  was   a   line,   or  half  a 
line,  of  another  stanza,  as  if  it  were  a  song  that 
he  had  forgotten,  and  was  now  trying  to  recollect 
line  by  line.     And  this  was  how  the  first  verse  ran : 
"  Fain  would  I  know  what  the  world  may  be 
Over  the  mountains  high. 
Mine  eyes  can  nought  but  the  white  snow  see, 
And  up  the  steep  sides  the  dark  fir-tree. 
That  climbs  as  if  yearning  to  know. 
Ah  !  what  if  one  ventured  to  go  ?  " 
169 


ARNE 

"  Is  it  about  travelling  ? "  asked  Margit, 
hungrily  watching  the  pastor's  face. 

"  Yes,  it  is  about  travelling,"  said  he,  and  let 
the  paper  fall. 

"I  knew  it!  Oh  God!  I  knew  it  all  the 
time,  well  enough  ! " 

She  looked  at  the  pastor  with  clasped  hands, 
her  face  haggard,  her  eyes  wild  with  excitement, 
the  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks. 

But  here  the  pastor  could  no  more  help  her 
than  she  could  herself.  "The  lad  must  be  left 
alone,"  said  he ;  "  life  can't  be  made  different 
for  his  sake ;  but  maybe  he'll  come  to  see  some- 
thing more  in  it  of  his  own  accord.  Just  now  it 
looks  as  if  he  thought  he  might  get  that  *  some- 
thing more  '  by  wandering  in  search  of  it. " 

"Why,  that's  just  like  the  old  woman  !"  said 
Margit. 

"  The  old  woman  ?  " 

"The  old  woman  who  wandered  on  and  on  to 
get  sunlight,  instead  of  making  a  window  in  the 
wall  to  let  it  come  in !  " 

The  pastor  was  struck  by  her  acuteness  ;  but, 
indeed,  it  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  been 
astonished,  when  she  got  on  the  subject  of  Arne's 
170 


MARGIT  S    CONFESSION 

longings:  truth  to  tell,  Margit  had  given  her 
thoughts  to  nothing  else  these  seven  or  eight 
years  past. 

"  Do  you  think  he'll  go  ?  what  am  I  to  do  ? 
and  the  money  ?  and  the  letters  ?  "  she  cried,  her 
thoughts  all  crowding  in  upon  her. 

"As  to  the  letters,  your  conduct  has  been 
wrong.  You'll  find  it  difficult  to  answer  for 
having  kept  from  him  what  was  his.  Worse 
still,  you  have  let  a  fellow-Christian — and  one 
who  by  no  means  deserved  it — appear  in  a  con- 
temptible light  to  your  son,  and,  what  makes  it 
worst  of  all,  one  of  whom  he  was  so  fond,  and 
who  in  turn  was  so  much  attached  to  him.  But 
we  will  pray  to  God  to  forgive  you ;  we  will 
both  pray  to  Him." 

Margit  bowed  her  head ;  she  had  been  sitting 
all  along  with  her  hands  folded.  "  How  gladly," 
she  said,  "  would  I  pray  for  forgiveness,  if  only 
I  knew  he  would  stay  I " 

She  was  evidently  mixing  up  God  and  Arne 
m  her  mind.  The  pastor  made  as  if  he  did  not 
hear  her. 

"  Do  you  mean  now,"  he  asked,  "  to  tell  him 
the  truth  straight  away  ?  " 
171 


ARNE 

She  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  said,  in 
a  low  tone : 

"  If  only  I  might  wait  a  little,  I  would  gladly 
do  it." 

The  pastor  smiled,  without  letting  her  see  it. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  he  said,  "  the  longer  you 
delay  the  greater  is  your  sin  ?" 

She  was  twisting  her  kerchief  in  both  her 
hands  ;  she  folded  it  up  into  a  little  square,  and 
was  now  trying,  but  vainly,  to  make  it  into  a 
still  smaller  one. 

"  If  I  tell  him  about  the  letters,"  she  mur- 
mured, "  he'll  go  off,  I'm  afraid." 

"  You  dare  not  trust  to  God,  then  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  of  course  1 — but  still,"  she  added, 
"  suppose  he  were  to  leave  me  now,  all  the 
same  ?  " 

"You  are  more  afraid,  then,  of  his  going  away 
than  of  your  being  left  in  sin  ?  " 

Margit  had  unrolled  her  kerchief  again,  and 
she  raised  it  to  her  eyes  now,  for  the  tears 
were  beginning  to  fall.  The  pastor  sat  looking 
at  her  for  a  moment,  and  then : 

"  Why  have  you  been  telling  me  all  this,"  he 
went  on,  "  if  you  didn't  mean  it  to  lead  to  some- 
172 


thing  ?  "  And  he  paused  for  a  reply,  but  none 
came. 

"  Did  you  think,  perhaps,"  he  went  on,  "  that 
your  sin  would  be  less  when  once  you  had  con- 
fessed it  to  some  one  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  thought,"  she  said  softly,  her 
head  bowed  still  lower  on  her  breast.  The  pastor 
smiled  and  rose. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear  Margit,"  he  said,  "  you 
must  now  so  act  that  'H  your  old  age  you  may 
have  happiness." 

"  If  only  I  might  keep  what  I  have  now  I " 
said  she.  And  it  seemed  to  the  pastor  as  if  she 
dared  not  hope  for  any  greater  happiness  than 
always  to  live  in  her  present  constant  anxiety. 
He  smiled,  and  filled  his  pipe. 

**  If  only,"  he  muttered,  "  there  were  some 
little  lassie,  now,  who  could  get  hold  of  him, 
he'd  stay  here  fast  enough  then,  you'd  soon 
see ! " 

She  looked  up  quickly,  and  followed  the 
pastor's  movements  with  her  eyes,  till  he  came 
and  paused  before  her. 

"  Eli  BOen—?— What  ?— eh  ?  "  he  said. 

She  blushed  fiery  red,  and  looked  down  again, 
173 


ARNE 

but  made  no  answer.  The  pastor,  still  halting 
before  her,  awaiting  her  reply,  said  (as  if  to 
himself) : 

"If  only  we  could  manage  so  that  they  could 
oftener  come  together  to  the  parsonage  here  ! " 

She  peered  up  into  his  face  to  see  if  he  were 
in  serious  earnest,  but  she  scarcely  dared  really 
believe  him. 

He  began  to  walk  up  and  down  again,  but 
presently  he  paused : 

"Look  here,  now,  Margit — to  come  to  the 
point ;  was  that  the  real  reason  that  brought 
you  here  to-day  ?  " 

She  looked  fixedly  at  the  floor,  put  a  couple 
of  fingers  in  her  twisted  kerchief,  and  pulled 
them  out  of  the  tip  of  it : 

"Ah,  yes,"  she  said,  "God  help  me!  that 
was  really  just  it." 

The  pastor  burst  out  laughing,  and  rubbed 
his  hands. 

"Was  it  that,  perhaps,  you  wanted  last  timg 
you  were  here,  then  ?  " 

She  drew  out  the  end  of  her  kerchief  still 
further,  pulling  and  pulling  at  it,  till  she  at  last 
got  out : 


"  As  you  say  so  yourself,  it  must  have  been, 
I  suppose." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  ha,  ha,  ha !  Oh  Margit, 
Margit ! — Well,  well,  we'll  see  what  we  can  do  ; 
for,  truth  to  tell,  my  wife  and  daughter  have 
long  been  of  the  same  mind." 

"  Is  that  possible  ?  "  cried  Margit.  And  she 
looked  up  with  so  happy,  and  yet  so  shame- 
faced an  expression,  that  it  quite  rejoiced  the 
pastor  to  see  her  open,  handsome  face,  where  it 
was  plain  to  read  the  child's  heart,  in  spite  of 
all  sorrow  or  fear. 

"  Yes,  Margit,"  said  he.  "  You  who  have  so 
much  love  in  you  will  surely,  for  Love's  own 
sake,  get  forgiveness,  both  of  your  God  and  your 
son,  for  your  transgressions.  You  have  indeed 
had  your  punishment  already  in  the  constant 
and  great  anxiety  you  have  lived  in.  We  shall 
see  now  whether  God  will  make  speedy  ending 
to  ii  all ;  for  if  He  wills  it  so.  He  will  lend  us 
His  aid  in  this." 

She  sighed  deeply  again  and  again ;  then  she 

rose   up,  thanked  him,  curtsied,  walked  across 

the   room,  and   curtsied   farewell   again  on   the 

threshold.    The  moment  she  was  out  of  the  room, 

175 


ARNE 

she  felt  as  if  transformed.  She  looked  up  to 
the  heavens  with  a  quick  glance,  full  of  shining 
thankfulness,  and  hastened  down  the  steps,  and 
the  farther  she  got  the  quicker  she  went,  walking 
back  to  Kampen  that  day  with  a  lighter  heart 
than  she  had  had  for  many  and  many  a  year. 
When  she  got  so  far  as  to  be  able  to  see  the 
smoke  curling  thick  and  merrily  from  the  chim- 
ney, she  blessed  the  house,  the  farmyard,  the 
whole  homestead,  the  pastor  and  Arne,  and 
remembered  that  they  Were  to  have  smoked  meat 
for  dinner,  which  was  her  favourite  dish. 


i7« 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BY   THE    BLACK    WATER 

Kampen  was  a  fine  farm.  It  lay  in  the  midst  of 
the  level  ground  that  had  the  rocky  ravine  for 
boundary  on  the  lower  side,  and  the  high  road 
on  the  other.  On  the  upper  side  of  the  road 
stood  a  thick,  close  wood  ;  just  behind  it  began 
the  mountain  slope,  and  in  the  distance  towered 
up  the  blue,  snow-capped  peaks.  In  a  like  way, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine  rose  another 
broad  range  of  mountains,  that  curved  away  by 
the  Black  Water,  just  at  the  spot  where  Bocn 
lay,  and  then  went  higher  and  higher  up  towards 
Kampen,  but  turned  aside  on  its  way  towards  the 
broad  valley  known  as  the  "  Lower  Parish,"  that 
began  at  this  spot ;  for  Kampen  was  the  last  farm 
in  the  "  Upper  Parish." 

The  front  door  of  the  dwelling-house  at  Kampen 
opened  towards  the  road  ;  from  the  one  to  the 
*77  M 


ARNE 

other,  a  distancce  of  several  hundred  yards,  led  a 
path  with  leafy  birch-trees  on  both  sides  of  it. 
On  both  sides,  too,  of  the  cultivated  lands  lay 
woods ;  the  farm  lands  and  meadows  could  thus 
be  easily  increased  as  much  as  one  pleased; 
indeed,  it  was  in  most  respects  a  splendid  spot 
for  farming. 

In  front  of  the  house  lay  a  little  garden.  Arne 
had  laid  it  out  and  looked  after  it,  as  he  had  learnt 
to  from  his  books.  To  the  left  were  the  cattle- 
sheds  and  the  other  outhouses;  they  were  for 
the  most  part  newly-built,  and  formed  a  square 
with  the  dwelling-house.  This  latter  was  painted 
red,  with  window-frames  and  doors  of  white ;  it 
had  two  storeys  and  was  thatched  with  turf,  so 
that  little  bits  of  green  were  growing  on  the  roof. 
On  the  ridge  of  this  latter  was  a  staff,  on  which 
turned  an  iron  cock  with  a  long  tail. 

Spring  had  come  to  the  mountains.  One 
Sunday  morning  the  air  was  somewhat  heavy, 
but  calm  and  not  cold ;  a  sort  of  mist  seemed  to 
lie  over  the  forest,  but  it  would  lift  as  the  day 
went  on,  thought  Margit.  Arne  had  read  the 
sermon  to  his  mother  and  sung  hymns,  and  it 
had  made  him  feel  happy.  Now  he  was  standing 
178 


BY    THE    BLACK    WATER 

in  full  trim  to  go  up  to  the  parsonage.  He 
opened  the  door ;  the  fragrance  of  fresh  foliage 
struck  upon  his  senses  from  the  garden,  standing 
deep  clothed  in  morning  mist ;  from  the  ravine 
came  the  mighty  thunderous  sound  that  made  the 
eyes  and  ears  quiver  of  him  that  heard  it. 

Arne  began  his  up-hill  walk.  As  he  got 
further  from  the  waterfall,  the  sound  of  the  rush 
of  water  was  less  and  less  terrific  ;  but  it  seemed 
now  to  spread  out  over  the  whole  landscape,  like 
the  full  deep  tone  of  an  organ. 

"God  be  with  him  on  the  way  he's  going 
now ! "  said  the  mother,  opening  the  window,  and 
following  him  with  her  eyes  till  the  bushes  hid  him. 
The  mist  lifted  bit  by  bit,  the  sun's  rays  pierced 
it  through,  and  life  sprang  up  again  in  meadow 
and  garden ;  all  Arne's  work  was  growing  there 
with  fresh  strength,  bringing  forth  fragrance  and 
joy  for  his  mother.  Spring  is  beautiful  indeed 
for  one  who  has  long  borne  winter. 

Arne  had  no  definite  object  at  the  parsonage, 
but  he  wanted  to  ask  about  the  newspapers  that 
he  took  in  with  the  pastor.  Lately  he  had  seen 
the  names  of  several  Norwegians  who  had  done 
well  for  themselves  at  gold-mining  in  America, 
179 


ARNE 

and  among  them  was  Kristen.  Now,  Arne  had 
heard  a  vague  rumour  that  Kristen  was  expected 
home.  Of  this  he  thought  he  could  get  certain 
information  at  the  parsonage;  and  if  it  should 
be  really  true  that  Kristen  had  already  come  back 
to  the  town,  Arne  thought  he  would  go  and  see 
him  in  the  interval  between  the  end  of  spring  and 
the  hay  cutting. 

Deep  in  these  thoughts,  he  strode  along  till 
he  got  to  where  he  could  see  the  Black  Water, 
and,  on  the  other  side  of  it,  Boen.  The  mist 
was  lifting  there,  too,  by  this  time,  and  the  sun's 
rays  were  sporting  over  the  green  sward;  the 
mountain  stood  with  its  head  all  golden,  but  its 
breast  deep-wrapped  in  haze  ;  the  forest  threw 
its  dense  shadow  over  the  water  on  the  right, 
but  just  in  front  of  the  houses  the  waves  had 
receded  somewhat,  and  the  white  sand  lay  glis- 
tening in  the  sun.  At  a  bound,  his  thoughts 
were  within  the  red-painted  building  with  the 
white  doors  and  window-frames  which  he  had 
painted  his  own  to  resemble.  He  did  not  think 
of  the  first  heavy  days  he  had  spent  there ;  he 
thought  only  of  the  summer  they  both  saw — he 
and  Eli — up  there  in  the  sick-room.  Since  then, 
i8o 


BY   THE    BLACK    WATER 

he  had  never  been  there  ;  after  that,  he  never 
would — not  for  all  the  world.  If  his  thoughts 
but  turned  that  way,  it  made  him  hot  and  red, 
and  filled  him  with  shame — though,  indeed,  he 
thought  of  it  every  single  day,  and  many  times  a 
day,  too ;  but  if  there  was  one  thing  which  could 
drive  him  away  from  the  place,  it  was  (he  felt) 
just  that ! 

On  he  strode,  as  if  he  would  take  himself  far 
from  it  all ;  but  the  more  he  walked,  the  nearer 
he  came  to  being  right  opposite  Boen,  and,  con- 
sequently, the  more  he  looked  at  it.  The  mist  was 
all  gone  now  ;  the  heavens  were  shining  clear  from 
one  mountain  top  to  the  other,  the  birds  swimming 
in  the  sun-bright  air  and  crying  joyously  to  one 
another,  the  fields  answering  in  myriads  of  bright 
blossoms.  There  was  no  thunderous  waterfall 
there,  to  sober  radiant  joy  into  awe  and  reverence  ; 
but  freely,  boundlessly,  full  of  life,  it  burst  forth 
— singing,  shining,  rejoicing,  on  its  upward  way. 

Arne  had  walked  himself  burning  hot.  He 
threw  himself  down  on  the  grass  at  the  foot  of  a 
knoll,  glanced  over  at  BOen,  and  turned  away,  so 
that  his  eyes  might  no  longer  look  that  way. 
Then  he  heard  singing  above  him,  clear-sounding 
i8i 


ARNE 

as  none  he  had  ever  heard  before.     It  darted  up 

from  the  meadow  among  the  songs  of  the  birds, 

and   almost   before  he  could   make  sure   of  the 

tune,  he  recognised  the  words  ;  for  the  tune  was 

the  one  he  loved  best  of  all,  and  the  words  were 

those  he  had  had  in  his  heart  from  his  childhood 

— ^and  lost,  the  very  day  he  had  brought  them 

forth  !     He  sprang  up,  as  if  to  catch  them  now  ; 

but,  instead,  paused  and  listened.     There  came 

rippling  down  to  him  the  first  verse,  then  the 

next,  then   the  third,  the  fourth — all  the  verses 

of  his  own  lost  song. 

"Fain  would  I  know  what  the  world  may  be 
Over  the  mountains  high. 
Mine  eyes  can  nought  but  the  white  snow  see, 
And  up  the  steep  sides  the  dark  fir-tree, 
That  climbs  as  if  yearning  to  know, 
Ah  !  what  if  one  ventured  to  go  ? 

"  The  eagle  flies  in  his  fearless  way 
Over  the  mountains  high  ; 
In  triumph  he  swims  through  the  fresh  young  day, 
Spends  his  wild  heart  in  the  hunt  for  his  prey, 
And  drops  where  he  chooses  to  rest. 
Obedient  to  no  man's  behest. 

••  Thou  yeam'st  not  to  journey,  O  apple-tree  green, 
Over  the  mountains  high ; 
For  in  winter  thou  waitest  till  summer-time  sheen 
Shall  clothe  thee  with  blossoms  so  fair  to  be  seen, 
What  the  birds  sing,  as  flying  they  go, 
Thou  know'st  not — nor  carest  to  know. 
182 


BY   THE    BLACK    WATER 

*•  He  who  has  longed  twenty  years  in  his  soul 
To  be  over  the  mountains  high. 
Yet  who  knows  that  he  never  will  reach  that  goal, 
And  feels  weaker  and  feebler  as  swift  the  years  roll,— 
Let  him  learn  from  the  birds  on  the  wing 
The  tidings  of  comfort  they  bring. 

"  Carolling  birds,  say,  why  left  you  there, 
Over  the  mountains  high, 
Your  warm  little  nests,  and  a  land  so  fair, 
With  its  leaher  trees  and  its  mild,  sweet  air  ? 
Say,  was  it  only  to  bring 
Longing,  longing — but  never  a  wing  ? 

"  Say,  am  I  never,  never  to  go 

Over  the  mountains  high  ? 
Ye  ice-bound  rocks,  will  ye  weigh  on  me  so, 
That  ye  smother  my  heart  'neath  the  depths  of  your  snow, 
Penned  'mid  your  darksome  gloom, 
Till  ye  yield  me  up  to  the  tomb  ? 

"  Up,  heart,  up  !  and  away,  away  ! 
Over  the  mountains  high. 
For  my  courage  is  young,  and  my  soul  will  be  gay, 
If  no  longer  bound  straitly  and  fettered  I  stay. 
But  seeking  yon  summit  to  gain, 
No  more  beat  my  wings  here  in  vain. 

"  One  day,  I  know,  shall  my  journey  be 
Over  the  mountains  high. 
Lord  God  !  fair  is  the  dwelling  of  Thee. 
Say,  is  the  portal  unbarred  for  me  ? 
Not  yet  let  its  hinges  turn ; 
Grant  me  to  live— and  to  yearn." 

Arne  stood  listening  till  the  last  verse,  the  last 
word   died   away.     Once    more   he    heard    the 
183 


ARNE 

birds  singing  merrily  and  flitting  about,  but  he 
scarce  knew  whether  he  himself  dared  move. 
But  see  who  it  was  he  must,  at  any  rate.  He 
moved  towards  the  place,  planting  his  steps  so 
warily  that  not  even  the  rustle  of  the  grass 
tould  be  heard.  A  little  butterfly  settled  upon 
a  flower  just  in  front  of  his  foot,  fluttered  up, 
flew  on  a  little,  and  settled  down  again  ;  up 
again  and  on,  and  on,  and  on  in  front  of  him  all 
the  way,  as  he  crept  to  the  top  of  the  hill. 
There,  in  front  of  him,  stood  a  thick  clump  of 
bushes  ;  he  need  go  no  further,  for  now  he  could 
see.  A  bird  flew  up  from  amidst  the  under- 
growth with  a  twitter  of  affright,  and  sped 
away  over  the  hill.  She  looked  up  at  this — she 
who  was  sitting  there.  He  bent  low  down, 
holding  his  breath,  with  his  heart  beating  so  that 
he  could  hear  every  pulsation,  and  listening  with 
every  fibre;  he  dared  not  let  a  leaf  rustle — for 
it  was  she — it  was  Eli ! 

Long,  long,  after,  he  looked  up  a  little,  and 
would  have  liked  to  draw  himself  a  step  nearer; 
but  the  bird  had  its  nest,  perhaps,  among  the 
undergrowth  (thought  he),  and  he  would  not  run 
/he  risk  of  trampling  it  down,  so  he  peered  through 
184 


BY    THE    BLACK    WATER 

the  foliage  as  the  boughs  swung  apart  or  drew 
together.  The  sunlight  was  falling  straight  on 
her,  as  she  sat  there  in  her  black,  sleeveless 
bodice,  with  her  boy's  straw  hat  placed  loosely 
and  sideways  on  her  head.  In  her  lap  lay  a 
book,  but  on  it  a  profusion  of  wild  flowers  ;  her 
right  hand  was  playing  among  them,  as  if  she 
was  lost  in  thought ;  her  left  arm  was  resting  on 
her  knee  and  supporting  her  head.  Her  eyes 
were  following  the  bird's  flight,  and  it  looked  as 
if  she  might  have  been  weeping. 

A  thing  more  beautiful  had  Arne  never  seen 
or  dreamt  of  in  all  his  lifetime.  The  sun  was 
scattering  all  his  gold  on  her  and  about  her ;  and 
it  seemed  to  him  that  the  song,  though  she  had 
long  ceased  singing,  was  floating  about  him,  till 
he  felt  as  if  his  heart  and  his  breath  were  beat- 
ing time  to  it. 

She  took  the  book  and  opened  it,  shut  it  again 
quickly,  and,  sitting  as  before,  began  to  hum. 
It  was  his  song : 

"  Green  stood  the  tree,  with  its  leaves  tender  bright." 

He  could  hear  that,  though  she  did  not  remembel 

cither  the  words  or  the  tune  properly,  and  often 

185 


ARNE 

went  wrong  in  them.  The  last  verse  was  the 
one  she  knew  best,  so  she  ran  over  it  again  and 
again  ;  but  this  was  how  she  sang  it : 

"  Bright  grew  the  berries,  so  red,  ripe,  and  rare. 
'  May  I  take  you  ? '  said  Lassie,  so  young,  and  so  fair. 

*  Yes,  take  them,  I  pray, 

This  sunshiny  day,' 
Said  the  tree — tralala,  tralalalala — fair !  " 

And  then  up  she  sprang  quickly,  shook  off  all 
her  flowers  around  her,  and  carolled  out  so  loudly 
that  her  voice  seemed  to  thrill  through  the  air, 
and  well  nigh  to  reach  Boen.  And  away  she 
darted  ! — Should  he  call  to  her  ?     No  I 

Down  the  hills  she  sped,  singing,  trilling;  of! 
fell  her  hat  in  her  speed,  and  she  stood  still 
among  the  tall  grass  to  pick  it  up.  "Shall  I 
call?"  he  thought;  "she's  looking  round!" — 
and  down  he  dropped  again.  It  was  long  before 
he  dared  peer  forth ;  at  first  he  dared  not  raise 
more  than  his  head — he  could  not  see  her ;  then 
he  knelt,  but  still  he  could  not  see  her ;  then  he 
rose  to  his  feet — she  was  gone !  .  .  .  . 

He  no  longer  wanted  to  go  to  the  parsonage. 
He  no  longer  wanted  anything!  He  went  and 
sat  where   she  had   been   sitting,   and   he   was 

i86 


BY   THE    BI.ACK    WATER 

sitting  there  still  when  the  sun  above  him 
marked  mid-day.  On  the  lake  was  not  a  single 
ripple;  from  the  homesteads  smoke  was  begin- 
ning to  curl  up;  the  water-fowl  ceased  calling 
one  after  another ;  the  smaller  birds  were  at 
play,  but  they  were  moving  towards  the  shade 
of  the  woods  ;  all  the  dew  was  gone,  and  the 
grass  looked  soberly  demure;  there  was  not  a 
breath  of  wind  to  stir  the  leaves ;  the  sun  was 
now  about  its  mid-day  height.  He  knew  not 
how  it  was,  he  found  himself,  as  he  sat  there, 
making  a  little  song.  A  soft  tune  came  into  his 
heart,  offering  itself  to  him,  and,  with  his  breast 
strangely  filled  with  all  gentle  feelings,  the  tune 
hovered  about  him,  till  it  melted  them  together 
into  one  harmonious  whole. 

He  sang  it,  softly  and  peacefully  as  he  had 
composed  it  : 

"  In  the  woods  the  lad  wandered  the  whole  day  long. 
The  whole  day  long  ; 
For  there  he  had  heard  such  a  wonderful  song, 
Such  a  wonderful  song. 

"  He  made  him  a  flute  from  a  willow-tree, 
From  a  willow-tree ; 
And  sought  if  therein  lay  the  melody, 
The  melody, 

187 


ARNE 

"  It  came,  and  it  whispered  its  name  to  him, 
Its  name  to  him  ; 
But,  whispering,  died  in  the  forest  dim, 
In  the  forest  dim. 

"  And  as  he  lay  sleeping,  it  stole  to  him  oft, 
Stole  to  him  oft. 
In  dreams  it  would  lovingly  hover  aloft, 
Hover  aloft. 

"  Bat  when,  joyously  listening,  he  woke  from  his  dream. 
Woke  from  his  dream, 
Far  off  hung  the  song  in  the  wan  moon-beam, 
The  wan  moon-beam. 

'  *  Oh,  Father  in  Heaven  !  now  take  me  from  hence, 

Take  me  from  hence ! 
The  song  it  has  stolen  my  heart  and  sense, 
My  heart  and  sense.' 

••  But  our  Father  answered  :   'It  loves  thee  well, 
It  loves  thee  well, 
Tho'  it  never  thine  own  for  an  hour  may  dwell, 
For  an  hour  may  dwell. 

" '  For  no  other  song  shalt  thou  long  and  pine, 
Long  and  pine ; 
But  for  this  one  alone,  which  can  never  be  thine, 
Never  be  thine  I'  " 


i88 


CHAPTER   XV 

arne's  treasure 

It  was  a  Sunday  evening  in  summer-time.  The 
pastor  had  come  back  from  church,  and  Margit 
had  been  with  him  at  his  house  till  nearly  seven 
o'clock.  Then  she  bade  him  farewell,  and 
hastened  down  the  steps,  and  out  into  the  farm- 
yard, for  there  she  had  caught  sight  of  Eli 
Boen,  who  had  for  some  time  past  been  playing 
with  the  little  boy  and  her  own  brother. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  Margit,  coming  to  a 
standstill ;  "  God  bless  you  all  I " 

"  Good  evening,"  said  Eli,  blushing  red,  and 
trying  to  leave  off  her  game  with  the  children, 
who  kept  pressing  her  to  go  on  ;  but  she  begged 
them  to  let  her  go,  and  got  their  gracious  per- 
mission for  that  one  evening. 

"  It  really  seems  to  me,"  said  Margit,  "  that  I 
must  know  you." 

189 


ARNE 

"  That  may  well  be,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Surely  you  must  be  Eli  BOen  ?  " 

Eli  acquiesced. 

"  Ah  I  so  then  you  really  are  Eli  B6en  !  Yes, 
I  see  now  you're  very  like  your  mother." 

Eli's  auburn  hair  had  come  down,  and  was 
hanging  long  and  loose  about  her  ;  her  face  was 
hot,  and  brown  as  a  berry  ;  her  bosom  was  rising 
and  falling  rapidly ;  she  could  not  get  breath  to 
speak,  and  she  laughed  at  herself  for  being  in 
such  a  state. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Margit,  looking  at  her  with 
pleasure,  "it's  natural  for  young  folks  to  be 
merry.     You  don't  know  me,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Eli  had  been  wanting  to  ask  her  name,  but 
could  not  pluck  up  courage  to  do  it,  because  the 
other  was  so  much  her  elder ;  now  she  said  in 
answer,  that  she  did  not  remember  having  seen 
her  before. 

"  Ah  no,"  Margit  said,  **  that  was  scarcely  to 
be  expected,  of  course ;  we  old  people  seldom 
get  about  much.  Perhaps  though,  you  know  my 
son  a  bit — Arne  Kampen  ?  I'm  his  mother." 
And  she  shot  a  glance  at  Eli,  upon  whose  face 
had  come  a  new  expression.  "I  think,"  she 
190 


arne's  treasure 

went  on,  "  he  did  some  work  once  over  there  at 
Boen  ?  " 

Yes,  that  was  so,  Eli  said. 

"  What  beautiful  weather  it  is  this  evening ! 
We  heaped  up  the  hay  to-day,  and  took  it  all  in 
before  I  came  out,"  continued  Margit.  "This 
is  really  God's  own  weather." 

"  It  must  indeed  be  a  glorious  year  for  hay," 
said  Eli. 

"  You  may  well  say  so.  Is  there  a  good  crop 
at  Been  ?  " 

"  They've  taken  it  all  in  by  now." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so  ;  sturdy  folks,  quick  work. 
Are  you  going  back  to-night  ?  " 

No,  she  was  not. 

They  talked  together  about  one  thing  and 
another,  and  by  degrees  got  intimate  enough  for 
Margit  to  venture  to  ask  if  Eli  would  walk  with 
her  part  of  the  way. 

"  Can't  you  give  me  your  company  just  for  a 
few  steps  ? "  she  said  ;  "  it's  so  seldom  I  meet 
any  one  to  talk  to,  and  I  dare  say  it's  much  the 
same  with  you." 

Eli  had  no  jacket  with  her ;  she  could  noi 
come,  she  said. 

191 


ARNE 

"  Ah,  it's  too  bad  of  me,  I  know,"  said  Margit, 
"to  ask  such  a  thing  the  first  time  I've  ever 
seen  you  ;  but  one  must  put  up  with  something 
from  old  folks." 

Eli  said  she  would  be  very  glad  to  go  with 
her ;  she  would  just  run  in  and  get  her  jacket. 

It  was  a  tight-fitting  jacket;  when  it  was 
fastened  about  her,  it  looked  as  if  it  was  merely 
a  bodice;  but  now  she  did  up  only  the  two 
lowest  hooks,  she  was  so  warm.  Her  pretty 
linen  vest  had  a  little  collar,  that  turned  down 
and  spread  out  round  her  neck,  and  was  fastened 
by  a  silver  clasp  in  the  shape  of  a  bird  with 
outstretched  wings.  Just  such  a  one  had  Nils 
Skraedder  worn  the  first  time  Margit  Kampen 
danced  with  him. 

"  A  pretty  clasp,"  said  she,  looking  at  it. 

"  I  had  it  from  mother,"  said  Eli. 

"Ah,  yes,  naturally!"  said  Margit,  helping 
her  to  fix  it. 

They  walked  along  side  by  side.  The  hay 
was  heaped  up,  and  lay  in  little  stacks ;  Margit 
pulled  bits  out  of  them,  smelt  it,  and  pronounced 
it  good.  She  ask  about  the  cattle  on  the  par- 
sonage farm,  questioned  Eli  about  those  at  B5en, 
192 


arne's  treasure 

and  told  her  how  big  those  were  that  they  had 
at  Kampen. 

"  The  place  has  been  getting  on  mightily  these 
last  few  years,"  she  said,  "  and  there's  room  for 
it  to  grow  as  much  as  one  pleases.  It  supports 
twelve  milch-cows  now,  and  it  might  keep  more ; 
but  my  son's  got  so  many  books  that  he  reads 
and  goes  by,  and  so  he  will  have  them  all  so 
well  fed." 

Eli  had  nothing  to  say  to  all  this,  as  was  to  be 
expected.  Then  Margit  asked  her  how  old  she  was. 

She  was  nineteen. 

"  Have  you  taken  any  part  in  the  house- 
work ?  you  look  so  delicate  that  you  can  scarcely 
have  done  much,"  said  Margit. 

Oh,  yes,  Eli  had  borne  her  share  in  lots  of 
ways — especially  of  late. 

"  Ah,  it's  good  to  be  used  to  doing  a  little  of 
all  that  sort  of  thing ;  when  one  has  a  large 
house  oneself,  there  is  so  much  wants  doing  and 
looking  after ;  of  course,  though,  when  one  finds 
good  help  at  hand  in  the  house,  there's  not  so 
much  need." 

Eli  thought  she  must  be  going  back  now,  for 
they  had  got  long  past  the  parsonage  lands. 
193  H 


ARNE 

"  Oh,  it'll  be  a  long  time  yet,"  urged  Margit, 
"  before  the  sun  goes  down.  It  would  be  sc 
nice  of  you  if  you  came  a  little  further,  and 
talked  to  me."     And  Eli  went  with  her. 

Then  Margit  began  to  talk  of  Arne. 

"  I  don't  know  if  you  know  him  much.  He 
can  teach  you  something  about  everything.  God 
bless  me  !  what  a  lot  he  has  read !  " 

Eli  admitted  that  she  knew  he  had  read  a  great 
deal. 

"  Ah !  yes ;  and  that's  the  least  to  be  said  for 
him.  Far  more  than  that  is  how  he's  behaved 
to  his  mother  all  his  life  long — far  more,  1  can 
tell  you  !  If  the  old  saying's  true,  that  he  who's 
good  to  his  mother  '11  be  good  to  his  wife,  then 
she  he  chooses  won't  need  much  pity.  What  is 
it  you're  looking  for,  my  child  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  dropped  a  little  twig  I  was  carrying." 

Both  were  silent  for  a  while,  and  went  on 
without  looking  at  one  another. 

"  It's  so  curious  in  him,"  the  mother  began 
again ;  "  he  was  always  so  kept  down  and  shy 
as  a  child,  and  so  he  got  into  the  habit  of  think- 
ing over  everything  to  himself,  and  people  of 
that  sort  don't  easily  pluck  up  heart." 
194 


Eli  felt  sure  she  ought  to  be  going  back  now, 
but  Margit  said  it  was  such  a  little  way  up  to 
Kampen  that  she  really  must  come  and  see  it 
now,  since  she  had  got  so  far. 

Eli  declared  it  was  too  late  for  doing  so  that 
day. 

"  Oh,  we  have  always  some  one  or  other 
there  who'll  see  you  safely  home,"  said  Margit. 

"  No,  no ! "  cried  EH  quickly,  making  as  if 
to  go. 

"What  a  pity,"  said  Margit,  "Arne's  not  at 
home,  so  that  he  can't  see  you  back;  but  still, 
there  are  others  there." 

And  now  Eli  made  less  objection.  She  would 
very  much  like  to  see  Kampen,  of  course  (she 
said),  if  only  it  didn't  get  too  late. 

"  Well,  if  we  stand  talking  here  long  it  cer- 
tainly will  be,"  said  Margit.  And  on  they  went 
again. 

"  I  suppose  you've  read  lots  of  books,"  said 
the  mother  "  as  you've  been  brought  up  at  the 
parsonage." 

Yes,  she  had  read  a  good  many. 

"That  will  be   useful,"  said  Margit,  "if  you 
have  a  husband  who's  read  less." 
195 


ARNE 

Eli  had  no  intention  of  having  such  a  one, 
she  said. 

"  Well,  well,  its  best  not  to,  of  course ;  but 
here  in  these  parts  folks  don't  get  much  book- 
learning." 

Eli  asked  what  the  smoke  came  from,  away 
there  in  the  wood. 

"  That's  the  new  crofter's  clearing  ;  it  belongs 
to  Kampen.  A  man  called  Upland  Knut  lives 
there.  He  was  all  alone  in  the  world,  so  Arne 
gave  him  the  place  to  clear  and  live  in.  Poor 
Arne,  he  knows  what  it  is  to  be  alone !  " 

Presently  they  were  high  enough  up  to  see 
Kampen.  The  sun  was  straight  in  their  faces ; 
they  put  up  their  hands  to  shield  them,  and 
looked  down.  In  the  middle  of  the  level  ground 
lay  the  farm-house,  its  wall  painted  red,  its  win- 
dow-frames white ;  round  about  it  the  meadows 
were  mown  and  the  hay  was  piled  up  in  stacks, 
the  heavy-laden,  rich-looking  fields  of  grain 
contrasting  with  the  pale,  shorn  hay-fields. 
Away  by  the  cattle-sheds  all  was  busy  life,  for 
cows,  sheep,  and  goats  were  just  come  home, 
amid  the  tinkUng  of  bells,  the  baying  of  dogs, 
the  cry  of  the  milking  maids;  and  above  and 
196 


arne's  treasure 

through  all  these  sounds  rose  up  from  the  ravine 
the  thunderous  voice  of  the  waterfall.  The 
longer  Eli  looked,  the  more  this  last  alone  took 
possession  of  her,  filling  her  with  such  awe  that 
at  length  it  made  her  heart  beat  fast,  and  roared 
and  thundered  through  and  through  her  head 
till  she  grew  quite  dazed,  and  then  so  happy  and 
excited  that  she  began  unconsciously  to  lag  with 
short  steps,  so  that  Margit  had  to  ask  her  to 
walk  a  little  faster.  She  gave  a  start.  "  I  have 
never  heard  a  sound  like  that  waterfall  before," 
she  explained  ;  "  I  am  almost  afraid  of  it." 

"  You'll  soon  grow  used  to  it,"  said  the  mother; 
"  you'd  get  quite  to  miss  it  at  last." 

"Do  you  really  think  so  ?  "  queried  Eli. 

"  Ah !  you'll  see,  sure  enough,"  said  Margit ; 
and  she  smiled.  "  Come,"  she  went  on ;  and  they 
turned  into  the  farm  from  the  road ;  "  first  we'll 
look  at  the  cattle.  These  trees  on  both  sides  of 
the  way  here  Nils  planted ;  he  was  always 
wanting  to  have  the  place  look  nice,  was  Nils ; 
and  so's  Arne  too.  Look  at  the  garden  he's 
made  there." 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh ! "  cried  Eli,  darting  up  to  tha 
garden  fence.  She  had  often  seen  Kampen,  but 
197 


ARNE 

never  so  near  as  now  ;  so  she  had  not  had  a 
glimpse  of  the  garden  at  all  before. 

'*  We'll  look  at  it  presently,"  said  Margit. 

Eli  glanced  furtively  through  the  windows,  as 
they  passed  the  house.  There  was  no  one 
within. 

They  went  and  stood  at  the  barn  door,  and 
looked  at  the  cows  as  they  went  lowing  by  to 
their  stalls.  Margit  named  each  by  its  name  to 
Eli,  telling  her  how  much  milk  each  one  gave, 
which  of  them  would  calve  that  summer  and 
which  not.  The  sheep  were  counted  and  penned 
in  ;  they  were  of  a  large,  strange  breed,  for  Arne 
had  taken  a  couple  of  lambs  from  the  south. 

"  He  takes  great  pains  with  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  though  you  mightn't  think  it  of  him,"  said 
Margit. 

Next  they  went  into  the  barn  and  looked  at 
the  hay,  which  was  already  carted  in ;  Eli  had  to 
smell  it,  of  course,  "  for  such  hay,"  as  the  mother 
said,  "was  not  to  be  found  everywhere."  She 
pointed  out  the  different  fields  through  the  win- 
dow-hole of  the  barn,  telling  her  what  crops  each 
one  bore,  and  how  much  was  sown  of  each  kind. 
And  now  they  went  towards  the  house.  Eli, 
198 


arne's  treasure 

who  had  answered  nothing  to  all  Margit  said 
hitherto,  asked  as  they  passed  the  garden  if  she 
might  not  go  into  it.  Being  allowed  to  do  so, 
she  next  asked  leave  to  pluck  just  a  flower  or 
two.  There  was  a  little  bench  in  one  comer ; 
she  seated  herself  on  it,  apparently  only  to  try 
it,  for  she  got  up  again  at  once. 

"  We  must  hurry  now,  if  we  don't  want  to  be 
very  late,"  said  Margit,  standing  in  the  door- 
way ;  and  at  this  they  went  in. 

Margit  asked  Eli  if  she  might  not  give  her 
something  to  eat  and  drink,  as  this  was  the  first 
time  she  had  crossed  their  threshold  ;  but  Eli 
turned  red,  and  curtly  declined.  She  turned 
and  looked  round  her.  She  was  in  the  room 
they  used  in  the  daytime ;  it  was  not  large,  but 
it  was  cosy-looking,  with  its  timepiece,  its  tiled 
stove,  and  its  windows  that  faced  the  road. 
Nil's  fiddle,  old  and  time-stained,  but  with  new 
strings,  hung  there,  as  did  a  couple  of  guns  that 
belonged  to  Arne,  his  English  fishing-rod,  and 
other  precious  objects,  which  the  mother  took 
down  and  showed  her.  Eli  looked  at  them,  and 
touched  them.  The  room  was  not  painted,  for 
Arne  disliked  painted  walls ;  neither  was  the 
199 


ARNE 

Other  room,  which  looked  out  upon  the  ravine, 
with  the  bright,  clear  mountain-peak  far  away 
behind.  This  apartment,  which  was  an  addition 
to  the  original  building — as  was  quite  half  that 
side  of  the  house — was  larger  and  handsomer 
than  the  other ;  but  in  the  two  smaller  rooms  ot 
the  wing  the  walls  and  ceilings  were  painted,  for 
that  was  where  the  mother  was  to  live  when  she 
got  old,  and  he  took  to  himself  a  wife.  They 
went  into  the  kitchen,  the  pantry,  the  wash- 
house.  Not  a  single  word  did  Eli  say,  and  she 
looked  at  everything  as  if  from  a  distance. 
Even  when  Margit  handed  her  something  to 
look  at,  she  put  out  her  hand  indeed,  but 
scarcely  touched  it.  Margit,  talking  to  her  the 
whole  way,  took  her  back  to  the  house  again ; 
they  must  go  up  and  look  at  the  higher  storey. 

Up  there  were  tidy  rooms  that  corresponded  to 
those  down  below,  but  they  looked  new,  and  not 
lived  in,  except  one  that  faced  the  ravine.  In 
these  rooms  there  lay  about,  or  hung  on  the 
walls,  all  sorts  of  household  goods  that  were 
not  required  for  daily  use.  There  were  a 
whole  row  of  fur  coverlets  and  bed-clothes; 
these  the  mother  took   hold  of  and  lifted  one 

200 


arne's  treasure 

after  another,  and  bade  Eli  do  so  too.  The 
girl  seemed  now  to  have  plucked  up  heart  a 
little  more,  or  else  she  took  more  interest  in 
things  like  these;  for  some  of  them  she  went 
back  to  more  than  once,  asking  questions,  and 
growing  brighter  and  brighter.  Presently  the 
mother  said,  "  Now  we'll  go,  last  of  all,  to 
Arne's  own  room,"  and  they  went  into  the  one 
facing  the  waterfall.  The  thunderous  voice  of 
the  torrent  smote  right  upon  them  through  the 
open  window.  Up  at  the  height  they  were, 
they  could  see  jets  and  spray  from  the  cascade 
amid  the  crags,  but  not  the  water  of  the  fall 
itself,  save  at  one  place  further  up,  where  a 
huge  bit  of  rock  had  broken  loose,  at  the  very 
spot  where  the  torrent  came  rushing  along, 
gathering  all  its  strength  for  the  last  leap  into 
the  depths  below.  Fresh  green  turf  had 
covered  the  upper  surface  of  the  rocky  wall, 
and  down  into  it  a  handful  of  fir-cones  had 
dived,  throwing  their  heads  heavenward  again, 
with  their  roots  deep  in  the  rifts  of  stone.  The 
wind  had  dashed  upon  the  trees,  shaking  them 
with  all  its  might ;  the  spray  of  the  torrent  bad 
washed  against  their  stems,  so  that  not  a  twig 

201 


ARNE 

was  to  be  seen  within  four  ells  of  their  roots  ! 
they  stood  there  as  if  with  knees  crippled  and 
bent,  and  gnarled  and  knotted  were  the  branches 
of  them  ;  but  yet,  stand  firmly  there  they  did, 
thrusting  their  heads  aloft  'mid  the  mountain 
walls.  They  were  the  first  that  Eli  saw  from 
the  window,  and  next  she  saw  the  shining 
white  snow-peaks  that  rose  above  the  green. 
She  turned  aside  her  eyes  ;  over  the  fields  lay 
peace  and  fruitfulness.  And  now  at  last  she 
looked  round  the  room  where  she  stood,  for  the 
torrent  had  forbidden  her  doing  so  at  first. 

How  calm  and  tranquil  it  was  in  here,  con- 
trasted with  the  tumult  without !  She  singled 
out  no  special  thing  to  gaze  at,  for  everything  in 
the  room  seemed  to  be  in  harmony,  and  nearly 
all  of  it  was  a  new  thing  to  her ;  for  Arne  had 
put  his  heart's  love  into  that  room,  so  that,  poor 
as  it  was,  it  had  been  made  as  beautiful  in  almost 
every  least  particular  as  well  might  be.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  his  verses  came  singing  in  as 
she  stood  there,  or  that  he  himself  smiled  at 
her  from  everything.  The  first  thing  her  mind 
took  in  separately  was  a  large,  handsome,  and 
finely-carven   bookcase.    There  were  so  many 


arne's  treasure 

books  in  it  that  she  thought  the  pastor  himself 
could  scarcely  have  more.  Next,  a  handsome 
chest  caught  her  attention.  He  had  many  a 
precious  thing  in  that,  his  mother  told  her ;  there, 
too,  he  kept  his  money,  she  added,  in  a  whisper. 
Twice  had  they  had  a  legacy,  she  told  her,  a  little 
later ;  once  more  they  were  to  do  so,  if  all  went 
as  it  should.  "  But  money,"  she  said,  "  is  not 
the  best  thing  in  the  world ;  he's  got  the  power 
to  get  what's  better." 

There  were  many  little  knick-knacks  about  the 
room  that  were  well  worth  looking  at,  and  Eli 
looked  at  them  all,  as  happy  and  bright  as  a  child. 

Margit  patted  her  on  the  shoulder.  "I've 
never  seen  you  before  to-day,  child,"  she  said, 
**  and  yet  I  feel  so  fond  of  you,"  and  she  looked 
lovingly  into  her  eyes.  Before  Eli  had  time  to 
blush,  she  nudged  her  gently,  and  went  on  : 

"  Look  at  that  little  red  chest  there ;  there's 
something  precious  in  that,  you  may  be  sure." 

Eli  looked  at  it.  It  was  a  little  square  box 
that  she  would  much  have  liked  to  have  for  her 
own. 

"  He  doesn't  want  me  to  know,"  whispered  the 
mother,  "  what  there  is  in  that  box,  and  he  hides 
203 


ARNE 

away  the  key  every  time."  So  saying,  she  went 
to  some  clothes  that  were  hanging  on  the  wall, 
took  down  a  velvet  waistcoat,  felt  in  the  watch- 
pocket  and  drew  out  the  key. 

"  Come  now,"  she  whispered, "  come  and  see !  " 

Eli  thought  what  the  mother  was  now  doing 
was  not  at  all  right ;  but  women  are  women,  and 
both  these  two  walked  softly  up  to  the  little  chest 
and  knelt  down  before  it.  But  the  moment  the 
mother  raised  the  lid,  such  a  pleasant  odour  arose 
that  Eli  clapped  her  hands  together  in  delight 
before  she  saw  a  single  thing.  At  the  top  lay  a 
kerchief,  spread  out  out  over  everything,  and  this 
Margit  now  drew  aside.  "  Look,  look  now ! " 
she  whispered,  and  drew  forth  a  fine  black  silk 
kerchief,  but  not  one  of  the  kind  worn  by  men. 

"That's  just  fit  for  a  girl,"  said  the  mother, 
"and  here's  another." 

Eli  took  hold  of  it  involuntarily,  and  the  other 
declared  she  must  try  it  on  her,  though  the  girl 
objected  and  turned  away  her  head.  The  mother 
folded  it  up  carefully  again. 

"  Look  at  this  I  "  she  cried,  drawing  forth  a 
handful  of  beautiful  silk  ribbons,  "  all  just  as  if 
for  a  girl,  isn't  it  ?  " 

ao4 


ARNE*S   TREASURE 

Eli  was  fiery  red  now,  but  she  uttered  not  a 
sound ;  her  bosom  was  heaving,  her  eyes  down- 
cast, her  whole  being  showed  anxious  unrest. 

"  There's  more  yet ! "  went  on  Margit,  drawing 
out  some  handsome  black  velvet,  evidently  meant 
for  a  dress.  "This  is  fine  indeed" — and  she 
held  it  up  to  the  light. 

Eli's  hands  were  trembling  a  little  when  the 
mother  bade  her  feel  it ;  she  felt  the  blood  rushing 
to  her  head,  and  she  seemed  to  want  to  turn 
away  but  not  to  have  the  power  to  do  so. 

"  He's  bought  something  each  time  he's  been 
to  the  town,"  said  Margit. 

Eli  could  scarcely  hold  out  much  more  now, 
she  felt ;  her  glance  flitted  from  one  thing  in  the 
chest  to  another,  and  then  back  again  to  the 
velvet ;  but  indeed  she  no  longer  saw  anything. 
But  the  mother  went  on  with  what  she  was 
doing.  The  last  thing  she  took  up  was  wrapped 
in  many  papers;  she  unfolded  them  one  after 
another,  so  arousing  Eli's  curiosity  that  she  got 
more  and  more  excited ;  at  last  appeared  a  pair 
of  little  shoes.  Neither  Eli  nor  Margit  had  ever 
seen  their  like  ;  the  mother,  indeed,  declared  she 
would  not  have  believed  such  things  could  be 
205 


ARNE 

made.  Not  a  word  said  the  girl,  but  when  the 
shoes  were  given  her  to  hold  she  closed  her  five 
little  fingers  tight  on  them,  and  then  felt  so 
ashamed  of  herself  that  she  was  like  to  weep : 
she  would  have  given  anything  to  go  away,  but 
she  dared  not  trust  herself  to  speak,  she  dared 
not  cause  the  mother  to  look  up.  Margit, 
indeed,  was  fully  taken  up  with  what  she  her- 
self was  doing. 

"Doesn't  it  look,"  she  said,  "just  as  if  he  had 
bought  all  these  things,  one  after  another,  for 
some  one  he  did  not  dare  give  them  to  ?  "  and 
she  went  on  putting  them  all  carefully  back  in 
the  places  she  had  taken  them  from ;  she  must 
have  had  practice  in  it.  "Now  let's  see  what's 
in  the  compartment  here,"  she  went  on,  and 
opened  it  with  much  care,  as  there  really  was 
some  great  thing  coming  now.  There  lay  a 
buckle,  broad  as  if  for  a  belt.  This  was  the 
first  thing  she  called  Eli's  attention  to,  and  next 
to  a  pair  of  gold  rings  fastened  together;  and 
then  Eli  saw  a  velvet-bound  hymn-book  with 
silver  clasps,  and  after  that  nothing  more — for 
she  had  seen  engraved  on  the  silver  clasp  of  the 
hymn-book,  in  finely- wrought  characters : 
206 


ARNE  S    TREASURE 

*'Eli  Baardsdatter  BOen." 

The  mother  urged  her  to  look ;  she  got  no 
answer,  but  she  saw  tear  after  tear  roll  down  on 
the  silk  covering,  and  stream  over  it.  Margit 
put  down  the  brooch  she  was  holding  up,  closed 
the  box  again,  turned,  and  clasped  Eli  to  her 
heart.  And  the  daughter  wepi  there,  and  the 
mother  wept  over  her,  and  neithei  of  them  said 
a  word. 

#  •  *  *  * 

A  little  while  after,  Eli  was  walking  in  the 
garden  alone ;  the  mother  had  gone  to  the 
kitchen  to  prepare  something  especially  nice, 
for  Arne  would  soon  be  back  now.  Presently 
she  went  out  into  the  garden  for  Eli ;  she  saw 
her  sitting,  leaning  towards  the  ground,  writing 
on  the  sandy  soil.  She  rubbed  it  out  with  her 
foot  when  she  saw  Margit  coming,  and  looked 
up  at  her  smiling,  but  she  had  evidently  been 
weeping. 

"You've  nothing  to  cry  for,  my  child,"  said 
Margit,  and  patted  her  cheeks. 

They  saw  something  black  among  the  bushes 
by  the  road.  Into  the  house  darted  Eli,  and 
207 


ARNE 

after  her  Margit.  There  was  quite  a  little  ban- 
quet spread  within,  with  its  cream  pudding, 
smoked  meat,  and  cakes ;  but  not  a  glance  did 
it  get  from  Eli :  she  went  and  sat  on  a  chair 
against  the  wall  in  the  corner  by  the  clock,  and 
started  if  she  but  heard  a  cat  stirring.  The 
mother  sat  down  by  the  table.  They  heard  a 
man's  step  on  the  stone  flags,  then  a  light,  quick 
step  in  the  passage ;  the  door  opened,  and  Arne 
came  in.  The  first  thing  he  saw  was  Eli  in  the 
corner  by  the  clock;  he  let  go  the  door-handle 
and  stood  motionless.  Thereon  Eli's  confusion 
was  even  greater  than  before ;  she  got  up,  re- 
pented having  done  so,  and  turned  her  face  to 
the  wall. 

"  You  here  ! "  said  Arne,  softly,  blushing  fiery 
red  as  he  spoke. 

She  raised  one  hand  and  held  it  before  her,  as 
one  does  when  the  sun  shines  too  dazzlingly  in 
one's  eyes. 

"Why ?"  he   broke  off,  but  he   made  a 

step  or  two  towards  her ;  she  lowered  her  hand 
again,  turned  to  him  with  bowed  head,  and  burst 
into  tears. 

"  God  bless  you,  Eli !  "  said  he,  and  he  put  his 
208 


ARNE  S    TREASURE 

arms  round  her ;  she  leant  her  head  on  his 
breast.  He  whispered  something  in  her  ear ; 
she  made  no  answer,  but  clasped  him  round  the 
neck  with  her  two  arms. 

Long  stood  they  thus,  with  not  a  sound  to  be 
heard  save  the  torrent's  eternal  admonition. 
Suddenly  somebody  seemed  to  be  crying  on  the 
other  side  of  the  table ;  Arne  looked  up  ;  it  was 
his  mother,  whom  he  had  not  seen  in  the  room 
till  then. 

"  Now,  I'm  sure  you  won't  go  away  from  me, 
Arne,"  said  she,  coming  over  to  where  he  stood. 
Her  tears  were  flowing  fast,  but  that  did  her 
good,  she  said. 


As  they  walked  home  together  in  the  fair 
summer  evening,  they  could  not  utter  many 
words  to  one  another  in  their  strange  new 
happiness.  Nature  herself  interpreted  their 
hearts  to  one  another,  in  her  tranquil,  shining, 
magnificent  companionship.  But  on  his  way 
home  from  their  first  summer-night's  walk, 
Arne,  as  he  walked  towards  the  rising  sun, 
composed  a  song,  which,  though  he  had  not 
ao9  0 


ARNE 

time    then    to    complete   it,   he   perfected   soon 
after,  and  made  it  his  daily  hymn  for  a  season. 

*•  Once  1  thought  that  I  really  might  grow  to  be  great, 
If  afar  in  the  world  I  might  grapple  with  fate  ; 
And  I  recked  not  of  friend,  and  I  recked  not  of  foe. 
While  my  heart  was  aflame  with  a  yearning  to  go. 
But  sudden  mine  eye  met  a  girl's  soft  glance, 

And  straight  died  my  longing  for  flight ; 
And  it  seems  to  me  now  that  the  fairest  on  earth 
Were  to  live  in  that  dear  maid's  sight. 

••  Once  I  thought  that  I  really  might  grow  to  be  great. 
If  afar  in  the  world  I  might  grapple  with  fate ; 
For  the  voice  of  Ambition  cried  loudly  •  Arise, 
Young  spirit !  and  struggle  thy  best  for  the  prize,' 

But  that  maiden  she  taught  me  (with  never  a  word) 

That  the  dearest  of  things  God  can  give 
Is  not  to  be  famous,  renowned,  or  great, 
But  perfect  in  manhood  to  live. 

"  Once  I  thought  that  I  really  might  grow  to  be  great, 
If  afar  in  the  world  I  might  grapple  with  fate ; 
But  to  do  aught  at  home  I  should  never  be  bold, 
For  all  I  met  here  were  misjudging  and  cold. 

But  when  I  saw  her,  and  her  sweet,  bright  love, 

And  her  radiant,  pure-hearted  glee, 
And  I  knew  that  her  joy  and  her  heart — all — was 
mine, 
Ah  !  to  live  was  a  glory  to  me." 

After  that  there  was  many  a  summer's 
evening  walk,  followed  by  many  a  song.  Here 
is  one  such : 

210 


"  Whence  comes  this  sudden  change  I  find  ? 
No  flood  has  been,  no  angry  wind  ; 
And  yet  my  gently  wand'ring  course 
Now  rushes  with  a  torrent's  force 
Mightily  to  the  mighty  sea. 

"  Can  something  in  Life's  self,  indeed, 
Give  to  a  man  at  utmost  need 
An  earnest  strength,  yet  tender  heart, 
That  peril,  care,  and  Love's  own  smart 
Encompass,  as  with  bridal  chains  ? 

•*  Sends  Life  to  me  such  promise  rare 
As  now  I  feel — strong,  helpful,  fair  ? 
Then  must  some  God  this  thing  have  willed 
Ordaining,  '  Be  My  word  fulfilled,' 
Wafting  me  soft  to  joy  for  aye." 

But    perhaps    nothing     expressed    his     deep 
sense  of  thankfulness  so  well  as  the  following  : 

*'  The  might  that  I  got  from  my  power  to  sing 
Made  Life's  joy  and  Life's  pain 
Fall  like  sunshine  and  rain 
On  my  soul,  in  its  first  fresh  years  of  spring. 
So  in  sorrow  or  glee 
No  harm  I  knew, 
While  my  song  might  be 
Of  my  own  Love  true. 

••The  might  that  I  got  from  my  power  to  sing 
Made  me  love  young  and  old, 
Made  me  urgent  and  bold. 
Spite  of  self,  to  prize  love  beyond  all  other  thing. 

2X1 


ARNE 

On,  on  did  I  roam 

Every  barrier  through, 
Till  at  last  I  reached  home 

And  my  own  Love  trne. 

'  The  might  that  I  got  from  my  power  to  sing 
Must  help  me  to  cheer 
Those  who  wander  in  fear, 
And  shall  lead  them  to  share  the  glad  tiding  I  bring. 
Joy  perfect er  never 

To  man  can  be  due, 
Than  carolling  ever 
His  own  Love  true.** 


ait 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"  AFTER    MANY   DAYS " 

It  was  autumn-time,  and  the  harvest  was 
beginning  to  be  garnered.  The  day  was  bright 
and  clear,  and  the  air  mild  as  in  summer-time, 
for  it  had  been  raining  the  night  before  and  in 
the  morning.  Though  it  was  Saturday,  many 
boats  were  making  their  way  over  the  Black 
Water  to  the  church — the  men  in  shirt-sleeves 
rowing,  the  women  sitting  in  the  bows  and  stern 
with  bright-coloured  kerchiefs  thrown  over  their 
heads.  Many  more  boats,  however,  seemed  to 
be  on  their  way  to  Been,  to  row  out  again  from 
it  in  a  long  and  large  procession ;  for  to-day 
Baard  Been  was  to  celebrate  the  marriage  of  his 
daughter  Eli  with  Arne  Nilsson  Kampen. 

All  doors  stood  open  ;  people  were  constantly 
in  and  out ;  children,  with  bits  of  cake  in  their 
hands,  fearing  for  their  new  clothes,  and  looking 
213 


ARNE 

shyly  at  one  another,  all  about  the  farmyard. 
An  old  woman  sat  on  the  granary  steps  by  her- 
self ;  it  was  Margit  Kampen.  She  was  wearing 
a  large  silver  ring  that  had  several  smaller  ones 
fastened  to  its  upper  edge ;  every  now  and  then 
she  looked  at  it.  Nils  had  given  it  her  the  day 
she  became  his  wife,  and  she  had  never  worn  it 
since. 

Within,  in  the  two  or  three  sitting  rooms,  the 
steward  and  two  young  bridesmen — Eli's  brother 
and  the  pastor's  son — were  busily  going  about 
handing  refreshments  to  the  guests  that  came 
streaming  in  to  the  great  wedding.  Up  in  Eli's 
room  sat  the  bride,  the  pastor's  wife,  and 
Mathilde,  who  had  come  from  the  town  on 
purpose  to  dress  the  bride  ;  for  that  the  two 
girls  had  promised  to  do,  the  one  for  the  other, 
ever  since  they  were  children.  Arne,  in  his 
smartest  of  clothes,  his  round,  well-fitting  coat, 
and  a  neckcloth  that  Eli  herself  had  worked  for 
him,  was  downstairs  in  the  room  with  the 
window  that  Eli  had  once  written  "Arne"  on. 
It  was  open,  and  by  it  he  stood,  leaning  against 
the  frame  and  looking  out  over  the  still  water  at 
the  parsonage  and  the  church. 
214 


"  AFTER    MANY    DAYS  " 

Out  in  the  passage  just  then  two  persons  met 
one  another,  both  of  whom  had  just  come  from 
looking  after  things.  One  of  them  was  fresh 
from  the  landing-stage,  where  he  had  been 
arranging  the  boats  for  the  church.  He  was 
wearing  a  round  black  cloth  jacket  and  blue 
frieze  breeches,  the  dye  from  which  had  made 
his  hands  all  blue ;  his  white  neckcloth  set  off 
his  fair  face  and  long,  yellow  hair ;  his  high 
forehead  looked  serene,  and  on  his  lips  played 
a  smile.  This  was  Baard.  The  person  he  met 
in  the  passage  had  just  come  from  the  kitchen. 
She  was  dressed  for  the  church  ;  her  figure 
looked  slender  and  stately,  and  she  walked  self- 
consciously and  slowly  through  the  doorway. 
When  she  met  Baard,  she  paused,  and  her  lips 
drew  down  a  little  on  one  side :  it  was  Birgit, 
his  wife.  Each  had  something  to  say  to  the 
other,  but  the  only  sign  of  it  was  that  both  came 
to  a  standstill.  Baard  was  more  confused  than 
she,  but  he  smiled  more  and  more,  and  his 
evident  and  great  confusion  came  to  his  aid,  for, 
without  more  ado,  he  began  to  go  up  the  stairs, 
with  a  "perhaps  you'll  come  too." 

She  followed  him.     In  the  garret  up  there 

215 


ARNE 

they  were  alone  by  themselves ;  but  yet  Baard 
locked  the  door  behind  her,  and  allowed  himself 
plenty  of  time.  When  at  last  he  turned  away 
from  it,  Birgit  was  by  the  window,  looking  out, 
so  as  not  to  see  what  was  going  on  in  the  room. 

Baard  drew  forth  a  little  flask  from  his  breast- 
pocket, and  a  little  silver  cup.  He  offered  it  to 
his  wife,  but  she  refused  it,  in  spite  of  his  assur- 
ance that  it  was  wine  sent  them  from  the  par- 
sonage. He  then  drank  some  himself,  though, 
as  he  drank,  he  kept  on  pressing  her  to  share  it. 
At  length  he  corked  the  flask  again,  put  it  away 
with  the  little  silver  cup  in  his  breast-pocket,  and 
seated  himself  on  a  box.  It  evidently  annoyed 
him  that  his  wife  would  not  drink  with  him. 

He  drew  a  long,  deep  breath  again  and  again. 
Birgit  was  leaning  against  the  window-frame  just 
in  front  of  him,  one  hand  resting  on  it.  Baard 
had  something  to  say,  but  to  say  it  now  was 
harder  than  ever. 

"Birgit,"  he  began,  "you've  been  thinking 
to-day  as  I've  been,  I  dare  say.  He  heard  her 
shift  from  one  side  of  the  window  to  the  other, 
and  then  rest  on  her  arm  again.  "You  guess 
what  I  mean,"  he  went  on.  "  He  stood  between 
216 


us  two,  I  know.  I  thought  that  would  only  go 
on  till  our  marriage,  but  it's  gone  on  much 
longer." 

He  heard  her  breathing  quick ;  he  saw  her 
fidget  about  again,  but  he  could  not  see  her  face. 
He  himself  was  undergoing  such  a  struggle  that 
he  had  to  dry  his  face  with  his  coat-sleeve. 
After  long  wrestling  he  began  again : 

"To-day  a  son  of  his,  handsome  and  clever, 
has  come  into  our  house,  and  to  him  we  have 
given  our  only  daughter.  ....  How  would  it 
be,  Birgit,  if  we  too  were  to  join  our  hearts 
to-day  ?  " 

His  voice  trembled  away,  and  he  cleared  his 
throat.  Birgit,  who  had  been  fidgeting  un- 
easily, laid  her  head  on  her  arm  again,  but  said 
nothing.  Long  Baard  waited ;  he  heard  her 
breathing  ;  but  he  got  no  answer.  He  had  no 
more  to  say.  He  looked  up,  his  face  growing 
paler  and  paler ;  but  she  did  not  even  turn  her 
head.  At  last  he  rose.  At  that  same  moment 
came  a  gentle  rap  on  the  door,  and  a  soft  voice 
asked  : 

'*  Aren't  you  coming,  mother  ?  " 

It  was  Eli;   and  there  was  something  in  tiic 

219  P 


ARNE 

voice  that  made  Baard  involuntarily  stand  still, 
and  involuntarily  look  at  Birgit.  Birgit,  too, 
raised  her  head.  She  looked  towards  the  door, 
and  her  eyes  met  Baard's  white  face. 

"Aren't  you  coming,  mother  ? "  cried  the 
voice  from  without,  once  more. 

"Yes,  I'm  coming  now,  dear!"  said  Birgit, 
in  a  choking  voice;  and  with  firm  step  she 
walked  across  the  room  to  Baard,  took  his  hand 
in  hers,  and  broke  into  violent  sobs.  The  two 
hands  clung  tight  together;  time-worn  hands 
they  were  now;  but  firmly  they  clasped  each 
other,  as  if  each  had  been  seeking  the  other  for 
twenty  years.  Hand  in  hand  were  they  still,  as 
they  went  to  open  the  door ;  and  presently,  too, 
when  the  bridal  train  streamed  down  to  the 
landing-stage,  and  Arne  gave  his  hand  to  Eli, 
leading  the  way ;  Baard,  seeing  it,  took  his 
wife's  hand  in  his  own,  against  all  use  and 
custom,  and  followed  them — smiling  happily. 
But  behind  them  came  Margit  Kampen — alone, 
as  was  her  wont. 

Baard  was  beside  himself  with  joy  on  that 
day ;  as  he  sat  chatting  with  the  rowers,  one  of 
them,  looking  at  the  mountain  behind  them, 
218 


"  AFTER    MANY    DAYS  " 

remarked  how  wonderful  it  was  that  even  rocky 
crags  like  those  could  be  clad  in  foliage. 

"It  must  go  on,  whether  it  will  or  no,"  said 
Baard.  And  his  eyes  wandered  over  the  wed- 
ding party  till  they  rested  on  the  bridal  pair  and 
his  wife.  "  Ah  !  "  he  added,  "  no  one  would 
have  thought  such  a  thing  possible — twenty 
years  ago." 


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